Latest Weapon of Mass Destruction: The Throw Pillow

Posted on April 28, 2013


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Having had such a swell time with my recent trip to the ER, I decided to arrange for another life threatening adventure. Since I had been caring for my one-and-a-half year old and three-and-a-half year old grandsons, all scary and deadly items had been safely stored away.  So I had to get creative.

Calling upon my vast knowledge of Ninja training (knowledge gathered painstakingly by listening to a brief comment made by someone in passing), I knew that Ninjas are trained to use innocuous items in devious ways. For example, in an average living room there are dozens of objects ninjas could use to kill you, including the room itself. Of course, most people have about 12 remotes now, so that number is easier to achieve.

Back to my story. While racing Elder Grandson from one end of the room to another, EG pulled a small throw pillow off the loveseat and batted my right hand. I heard a loud popping sound and noted that in the 65 years I had owned my right hand, I was fairly certain that I had never heard it make a noise. I looked down and was greeted with the sight of a a considerable amount of blood, gushing out of my hand.

Coincidentally, I had recently watched an episode of 24 in which the terrorist (or, in 24 lingo, “hostile”), grabbed Jack Bower’s (the fearless anti-terrorism agent who gets killed at least three times per episode and manages to come back to life with no ill effects) anorexic ex-girlfriend (who was also the daughter of the Secretary of Defense), and cut her somewhere on her neck so that she would bleed to death very slowly, through approximately three commercials. I mused on this as the blood ran down my hand and streamed  into the sink. Based on this looking remarkably like the anorexic ex-girlfriend of Jack Bower, I assessed my situation as grave, if not worse. In my case, I would not only die, but I would have ruined my carpet in the process.

I wrapped a hand towel around my hand, and when the towel turned completely red, I called a friend. She came rushing over and we all drove to the ER, where I was immediately asked, “What did this to you?” I answered, “A pillow.” A small crowd of ER types gathered around me, leaving patients unattended on gurneys. A conversation ensued, consisting mainly of “We’ve never had a pillow injury here.”

Two hours later, I had been x-rayed (nothing broken), got a tetanus shot and three stitches  and watched my hand blow up to resemble Mickey Mouse’s balloon hand at the Macy Day Parade. I was told that I had a massive hematoma that would take a week to go away. I was also told to expect my hand to turn black, and that if I wasn’t totally back to normal in a week, I should either consult a hand specialist or apply for a job at Disney World.

It wasn’t until I got home that I looked at the pillow again and saw that one of the three decorative buttons had chipped, creating a tiny sharp edge. So technically, I wasn’t attacked by a pillow, but rather by a button.

Two days later, my hand looks like it belongs on your average cadaver (bloodless white, bloated, with patches of a greyish blue color.) My palm is almost entirely dark grey. I can flex my fingers halfway. I can type but not write yet. I can’t point my finger, snap my fingers or give anyone the finger. If I could give anyone the finger, it would be the throw pillow. I will never trust another pillow again. Or a button. Or anything.