accidents | Karavansara

I have a lot of things to do – I am writing a campaign for a roleplaying game (sketch maps, draw diagrams, do the actual writing), I am revising a novel, I am about to sign a contract for another novel (fingers crossed), plus the usual number of short stories written on spec. A few articles. An interview. The podcast I am producing and co-hosting.
Lots of stuff.

But, in an unexpected accident (silly, all accidents are unexpected), I went and broke a finger, and as a result I am writing with only one hand. And I’ve been lucky – it could have been a lot worse.

So, what to do?
My writing is severely limited, and I might go for a dictation app for the urgent stuff.
But for the time being, as I am still in convalescence – and I’ll be for another week – I am trying to keep my mind off my current problems, and I’m catching up on my books backlog.

Right now I am reading Zen: the Art of Simple Living, by Sunmyoo Masuno, a slender book of practical zen for everyday life. A lot of the wisdom in the book is not new, and indeed a few things are already part of my day to day routine, but it is always good to have a reminder.

And it is also interesting, in this moment of forced stillness, to be reading a book about stillness as choice and lifestyle. It is a good moment as any to take stock of the situation and make a few adjustments, and any sensible suggestion is welcome – this is the right book at the right time.

Indeed, this accident will make me wiser for the future – and indeed, one of the first suggestions in the book, if applied, would have saved me lots of grief.

Just got back from the emergency ward of the Nizza Monferrato Hospital.
A superficial varicose vein in my right leg punctured, causing abundant bleeding and no less panic.
I am proud like a little boy scout* for the fact that not only I was able to stop the bleeding by applying a finger to the hole, but was also clear-headed enough to talk my father out of a panic frenzy for him to be able to drive me to the hospital.
From the whole ordeal, I came back with the following useful information:

that old pulp cliché about being clear-headed and cool even in presencce of abundant bleeding – your own bleeding – is true, at least for me
fresh blood is slippery as hell, even on a relatively rough surface (I’ll have to keep that in mind for future reference)
your own blood does not feel warm at all on your own skin, it feels dowright cold (ditto)
only Chow Yun Fat can stop abundant hemorrhage with a band-aid
flirtatious nurses that think you’re ten years younger despite the bleeding are a verified cliché, too

Oh, and now I own a blood-spattered copy of Richard Cohen’s (excellent) By the Sword, which sort of feels all right.

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* I never was a boy scout