grab a dishtowel to wrap around the handle of the knife.  I don’t want to slip and risk not removing the entire head.  I grab a wooden kitchen spoon and place it between my teeth to muffle my screams as I carve.  This is going to hurt like a bitch but there is no time to numb the pain with ice.  I am 100% focused.  The blood picks up speed as my heart races with frustration.  It starts pulsing and pounding as it continues to pour from the wound.  I dig and dig, sweat pouring down the side of my face, tears welling up in my eyes, blurring my vision.  Suddenly, I’m sprayed in the face, painting the wall behind me, like Dexter, a study in blood splatter analysis gone awry.  Except, I didn’t have the foresight to wrap my kitchen in plastic...

Please subscribe to keep reading.