The Cut

A few weeks ago, I cut someone. Really bad…with a knife.

Of course, it was an accident, but it was terrifying for me.

You may or may not know that I work at a local Organic Café. I mostly bake Gluten and Gluten Free bread, but the day of “the cut” I had time to make a salad to sell in the case up front. I love to bake the bread, but when I make salads or other items, I get to use my creativity. So, this particular day I was excited to get started.

I went to get a knife and as I returned my co-worker accidentally bumped a pitcher that was on my workstation and it went flying. We both went to grab the pitcher – as an automatic reaction – only I had a knife in my hand.

Time froze. In my head, I thought nothing happened, it’s fine. I don’t think I got him. And then, my second thought was, what are you talking about?! This is a really sharp chef’s knife. Of course, you cut him!

Time unfroze. Then, we both stood up at the same time. He was silent screaming while holding his latex-gloved hand which was full of blood. All I could see was so much bright red blood.

Time froze. We locked eyes. It was the strangest moment in time. Like we were both locked together in disbelief and shock.

Time unfroze. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!” I screamed, unable to think or process any sort of action.

Other co-workers came running and took the co-worker that I had cut away.

Time froze again. I stood there. Alone. Shaking. I had screwed up, big time. All those times that I had sarcastically made fun of kitchen safety rules…karma had stepped in.

Time unfroze. The manager came back into the room where I was still standing to clean up the mess. Blood had splattered all the way from the floor to the top of the stainless-steel cooler doors. It was smeared across the cutting board, and probably onto the giant sheet pan of cooked chicken that he had been chopping before “the cut”. My manager sprang into action, throwing away the chicken and wiping everything down with bleach, while I still just stood there trying to get my shit together.

My timer was going off for the quinoa on the stove. I couldn’t really move anywhere. I was frozen in this dazed and confused world where everything was moving slow and the sound was muffled. I finally snapped to.

I walked over to the stove to check the quinoa and just stood there. Another of my co-workers, a young punk kid, asked if I was ok. I nodded and looked down. He said, “It was an accident. Don’t worry.” He told me he had messed up the week before when he accidentally burned another one of our co-workers! I appreciated his empathy and gently spoken words.

Deep breath.

Reports came back to me that the guy I cut was going to have to go get stitches. So, it was confirmed bad.

I went and got the blood-smeared knife and cutting board and washed it. I think I was hoping that it would make everything better like wiping the slate clean…but it didn’t.

I proceeded to wash dishes. I didn’t want to touch a knife or even begin to think about making a salad, nor did I want to face anyone after I had messed up this bad. So, I shut off, blocked everything else out and washed dishes. So many thoughts raced through my head:

What the hell was I thinking? I’m such a dumb ass. What am I doing working in a kitchen – I can’t even handle a knife! How bad was it? Like was a finger hanging off? Did I cut anything off? He’s not going to be able to work…how’s he going to get paid? He needs the money – I know. Oh my God, and does he have insurance to pay for the doctor? Will the company pay for it? Oh no, and now his wife has to take off work to take him to the hospital. And then they have to deal with the hospital! Oh God. What did I do?!

After a while, the guy I cut actually came to find me before he left for the hospital. He gave me a hug and said, “It was an accident, and that’s what happens when you work in a kitchen sometimes.”

My self-criticism continued for days. Every time I would start to feel normal again. I would sink back down, thinking, “You’re out here having a hay day, hiking in the beautiful fall weather, holding hands with your hubby, while he’s in pain and stuck inside being miserable!”

It really dug up all sorts of emotions, thoughts, and feelings that I had buried deep down inside for so long. The biggest thought was around the fact that I had made a mistake. I didn’t ever really consider myself a perfectionist, but damn, I’ve recently realized that I really do expect a lot from myself. How long had I been living my life trying to not mess up?! Why was I walking a tight rope, afraid to just jump into the net just for fun sometimes?

Life is too short to be living with expectations that aren’t my own. This is my life, and I need to start coloring outside the lines.

The other big thought that I was wrestling with was: How do I forgive myself for making mistakes? Do I just look in the mirror one day and say, “OK, I forgive you. Poof, everything’s ok now!” Nope. It takes time. It takes digging in and getting dirty. It takes humility, bravery and this little thing called love.

I kept going to work at the kitchen in hopes of seeing him back to work, but secretly not really wanting to see him – to face him again.

The reports I received said that he couldn’t wash his hands over and over and then put gloves on which would keep the wound moist. Then I heard that he couldn’t come back because the muscle wasn’t healed enough to actually move how the brain wanted it to move. Every time I heard updates I cringed and my heart literally ached.

Finally, after about three weeks, he was able to come back to work again. I had cut his pointer finger and middle finger down to the bone – sliced right through skin, muscle, nerves. It’s all better now, though. There’s a scar, and his fingers are a bent out of shape a little, but it’s ok.

I truly do believe that everything happens for a reason. My co-worker and I collided into each other, creating a whole poetic series of self-reflections for both of us.

I know he works his tail off and has done so for his whole life. I think he truly needed a break. He needed to clean his house spic and span with one hand. He needed to clean behind the fridge, and under the sink. He needed to sort, organize and label every closet in his house. He needed to be bored.

Personally, I found out that I needed to clean some cobwebs out of my brain. I needed to shine some light in places that had become dark. I really needed to do some weeding, digging…and then some planting. I needed to give myself a big, tight squeeze of a hug.

I believe we each have a unique path to walk on this Earth...a theme that needs to be explored and overcome. It’s so very necessary to stop sleep walking through the daily humdrum, and wake up to all the bloody goodness of life. Dig in to what hurts or nags you, and do whatever you need to do to get rid of it...to be free to be YOU.