Just watched Nid de guepes (The Nest). Holy freaking crap, that is how you do an action film. How come I never heard of this movie and it is 7 years old? My mind has been blown. Today has turned into a wonderful day.
Kindergarden was a pivotal grade for me. At five years old I found myself confronted with an overwhelming amount of questions and choices. The first day of school, started out terrible when my teacher asked me, “what is your name?”
"It’s Katherine." I could see her general dissatisfaction with this answer. Most of the girls in my class had names like Erin, Ann, Gina, Sara ,Teal, Nikki or Jena. These were straight forward, no nonsense, easy to spell, easy to write names. And my mother had saddled me with this 9 letter monstrosity.
It was a public school, the room was loud with the sticky faced screeches of the twenty some other students and my teacher simply didn’t have the time or patience for such a long name. She thought for a second then asked, “what about your middle name, you could go by that.” Suddenly, I started to feel uneasy. I said, “My middle name is Elizabeth.” Great, another 9 letter whopper. She squinted as if trying to comprehend what to do. She then asked me (well come to think of it she wasn’t really asking but it must of been a question because she was waiting for a reply). ”Do you want to go by a shorter name like Katie or Kay?” I said that would be fine, because I didn’t want her to be mad at me. She wrote Katie on a name tag and stuck it to my chest.
I expected her to move on but she wasn’t done with her round of questioning. ”Are you right handed or left handed?” I felt confused. I wanted to go home. Why had I begged my mom to send me to school? I knew this teacher woman wouldn’t like my answer and I would be labeled a “problem” child.
"Both", I muttered. She looked at me sadistically with a smile. "Both?" She echoed. "Yes." My older sister is right handed, my younger brother is left handed. I’m the middle child and ambidexterity was my gift. Yet, as a five year old I couldn’t articulate this. After all, I had terrible penmanship. It didn’t matter what hand I wrote with, both were completely illegible. And as far as physical ability, if I threw a ball with my left hand it would go as far as if I threw a ball with my right hand. I just never had committed to either hands because in my opinion, they both were shit.
My teacher told me to pick up a pen. I picked it up with my right hand. She deduced, you’re right handed. She gave me scissors and I began cutting with my left hand. She looked annoyed. I didn’t understand why she was so pissed off. I thought I was suppose to start cutting. She said, “Katie you’re right handed. You’re not allowed to use the scissors in your left hand.” For the next three years I failed scissors until I learned how to ignore my left hand.
Now after twenty-some odd years, my left hand has finally been avenged. Last Sunday while doing dishes a plate snapped in thirds and blood suddenly gushed from my right thumb. I actually remember being generally surprised when I screamed owe and raced to get the phone to call my brother. The cut was deep. He wasn’t picking up. Rob had left to go to the gym and he ususally didn’t take his phone. I called anyway. ”Hello? “I need you home. I cut myself.” The words were oozing out. I felt faint. I slowly drifted to the cool floor. Why was it so hot? Don’t look at it. Wiggle your thumb. I can’t.
The front door flew open. Rob stood above me. “oh my god, oh my god. Honey, what did you do?” He looked at the sink dripping red and lifted me off the linoleum. Finally I looked at my ruptured thumb and started gagging. I’m in the bathroom, head in the trash as Rob presses paper towels around my hand. My brother is over with butterfly bandages. I’m laying on the floor. The carpet sticks to my neck. The wound is closed. Don’t think about it. Go to bed. You don’t need stitches, it’s just a flesh wound…
Around five hours later, we leave the Emergency Room. I have three stitches in my thumb. I can’t feel the tip. The doctor assured me that I was lucky for not cutting through the tendon. If you cut it, it’s nearly impossible to regain the use of your thumb. I use my hands a lot. I guess, that sounds stupid but I need my right thumb. These last couple of days have been so confusing because I don’t know what to do with myself. I can type with my left hand but I can’t draw, knit, sew, crochet, exercise, play banjo, practice guitar, start my car’s ignition, do my makeup or have a decent shower.
Yesterday, my friend took me to the doctor. They asked for my name and told me to fill out the paperwork. I picked up the pen in my left hand. It felt weird. I had conditioned myself into being right handed and gave the pen and paperwork to my friend to fill out for me. He asked me the series of embarrassing, personal, medical questions as the waiting room listened for my replies. The nurse came out and misread my name. ”Katie, the doctor will see you.”