Haemophobia

I’d always had a firm understanding of the word “bloody” – it is my favourite expletive after all- until today.

Cut my thumb accidentally and it wouldn’t stop bleeding. For a moment I thought it would drain my body of all its blood and leave me with a wrinkly, rubbery sheath of a carcass, much like a deflated balloon.

Random thoughts ran through my bloodless head – do I call Linda? She’s from St John’s. Try Googling for answers? No, I had to go teach, time was running out. Seek divine intervention?

Three blood-stained tissues and one excruciating wash later, I put a band aid on that gaping 0.5 cm cut and the blood overflowed, threatening to leave a trail of red. It finally stopped after half an hour; but I was convinced by then I suffered from a blood disorder and needed a full-body check up.

Anaemic, I waddled through the day, eventually emerging victorious from my battle with the brats – surprising myself once again. Unfortunately, I don’t have a single bottle of unexpired antiseptic in my house and I’m deathly afraid of infection; or worse, another metallic-stenched red rush.

Several kind and not-so-kind souls asked after my MSN footnote (a bloodied finger):

fangfang: aiyo…stop bleeding alr?
it could be haemophilia..
but choy choy..

my sister: aiyo… cld hav donated th blood lo..
shld go for first aid lessons hor..quite useful
did mummy scream?

It’s obvious who’s the kind and who’s the not-so-kind. 😛

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