Stitches

My tears slid down my face, reddening my eyes. I watch as the cloth I was holding to my wound caught more and more blood. We drove down winding roads and curving paths until I spotted the sign: CATHOLIC MEDICAL CENTER. I had just sliced my hand and was anxious for what was to come. Stitches. I knew I needed them, but I was terrified. Absolutely terrified. I had been preparing green bean caserole for Thanksgiving, when the lid of a mushroom soup can made a large gash in my left hand. I tried to be patient, but worry kept creeping in on me like thousands of ants. That was one of the hardest times to wait. I kind of wanted the ride to go on longer, but in another way, I didn't.