“Take me to the hospital.” Dad raised his voice from the other room.
My old man cut open his finger while chopping meat two nights ago. He didn’t tell me sooner since I had been out with my LA friend. “The bleeding stopped after about an hour.”
The scab was peeled off by accident. It start to bleed again. That was the tipping point when he said “I should have gone yesterday…” He added as we got into the cab.
The emergency doctor peeled off the band-aid and tended to his wound, “Because the cut is rather deep. It would get easily infected by just using band-aid. Come over on Saturday to change the wrap.”
“How long would it take to recover?”
I’m glad about my dad’s good call after his bad judgement earlier.
“I sharpened the knife before chopping the meat.” He gave me another crucial piece of information on our way back home. I winced.
I decided to not to work with one of the student directors due to her lack of passion for her foggy story. I sent her a text message while I was with dad in the hospital. Several hours spent on this potential client for nothing in the end. Time is the sunken cost that I paid. Like my dad’s wounded finger, I have to stop the bleeding before it does me more damage.
It sounds crucial of me. But sometimes, you just have to do the right thing so you can do things right.