While doing so I was cutting a line. With the knife in my hand I worked at a rope and kept reciting to myself, "don't do that. It's not safe."
Sure enough, I stabbed myself in the back of my left hand just west of my thumb.
Immediately blood began to squirt out. I must have hit a vein. It actually poured and bubbled. I placed my hand over it but it would not stop. I finally reached out for a rag which sat on the deck and wrapped my hand. The boat was up on stands, so I needed to climb down a ladder to the ground, which I did.
Now......
From the time I actually stabbed myself and the time I was actually standing on the ground took about 20 to 30 seconds. In that short time there was blood everywhere. It was all over the deck, winches, cabin roof, on the ladder, and along the ground. Amazing. It actually looked like a mini slaughter. It was all over my shoes, my pants, my shirt, and when I tried to adjust my glasses, all over my face. How ridiculous I felt.
It was more of a puncture than a cut. Perhaps a quarter inch long, but deep. In conclusion I really needed a couple of stitches. But like stories one hears about old folks eating cat food from lack of funds, I just did not want to visit the hospital and deal with the bill. Especially since I could use the funds in my struggle to keep my little vessel at the marina.
I went home washed my hand, dunked it in alcohol and bandaged it up. Hoping it would be ok, I sat by the computer staring out the window at Maplecroft.
Now there was someone familiar with blood.
Lizzie Borden.
Or you would think she would be.
But the injury I incurred only strengthened my belief that Lizzie did not wheel the axe. The tremendous amount of blood I spilled was amazing for a tiny cut. There was no way Lizzie could have escaped blood evidence. I don't believe that was possible in the short time she had between the time she supposedly killed her father and the time she sounded the bell. Some blood, some blood evidence would have displayed itself.
