Letters
Letter from Paris: In Which I Steek Myself
Dear friends,
I’m happy and relieved to be using both hands and all ten fingers to tell you about my latest exciting cultural experience: a visit to a Parisian emergency room. Of course you know I’m no stranger to French hospitals, but up to now none of my visits had been, shall we say, impromptu.
A couple of weeks ago I was slicing the remains of yesterday’s baguette to make a sandwich. My mind wandered, as it too often does; and while it was otherwise engaged the knife also wandered–out of the bread and deep into the tip of my left index finger.
As you might be eating breakfast while you read this, I will skip ahead to the emergency room (les urgences) of the Hôpital Saint-Louis in the tenth arrondissement.
The Hôpital Saint-Louis in 1900. They’ve updated it a bit since then.
After about thirty minutes’ wait, I was shown to an examination room by a brisk, no-nonsense nurse who explained that I would first see an intern, then the attending physician.
In fact I was seen by two interns, whose combined ages are probably almost equal to that of my favorite pair of jeans. They were polite and attentive. Enthusiastic, even. They uncovered my finger like teenagers on Christmas morning unwrapping a new Nintendo. After keen examination we all agreed that I had, indeed, cut my finger with the bread knife.
Then came the doctor. The interns explained that I had cut my finger with the bread knife. The doctor asked me what had happened. I explained that I had cut my finger with the bread knife. The doctor looked at my finger–he was as polite as the interns, if less jovial–and said that as I had cut my finger with the bread knife, I ought to have a couple stitches and I should expect a scar (cicatrice).
I went all wobbly. I not only work with my hands, I make videos that feature them close-up. Now, there would be a scar? A disgusting, disfiguring scar? On the finger I use to tension my yarn, no less? I imagined Patreon patrons clicking a link to learn about sewn bind-offs, only to recoil in shrieking horror.
The doctor instructed the senior intern to make a stitch here (ici) and there (là), wished me a good evening, and left.
The interns were now positively vibrating with excitement. After what had presumably been a ho-hum shift full of coughs and nausea, here was a near-amputation! And surgery!
Senior intern cleaned me up a bit while his junior rummaged around assembling everything necessary to reattach a limb. Senior intern took the lead, injecting the local anaesthetic and making the first stitch. I averted my gaze.
“Putain,” muttered Senior intern.
Putain is the French equivalent of an emphatic Anglo-Saxon oath that rhymes with duck.
I tried very hard to go to my happy place. A world empty of bread knives, but filled with skilled plastic surgeons who specialize in fingers.
When the first stitch was finished, Senior intern asked Junior if he’d like to do the second one.
“Sure!” said Junior. “I haven’t done it before, but I’ll give it a go. Talk me through it.”
I just laid there like some kid’s chewed-up Raggedy Ann, wondering why in the hell I couldn’t have just had soup for lunch.
I tried not to listen, however at length I realized that Senior Intern was explaining to Junior how to finish my seam with a surgeon’s knot–a knot I use all the time in sewing and weaving.
“Deux fois,” said Senior. Twice.
“Deux fois?” asked Junior. Twice?
“Oui, deux fois,” I said.
I wanted to yank my hand away and explain that I could finish it myself, thanks; but I couldn’t feel my hand so I didn’t.
This little misadventure does, at least, have a happy ending. After a couple of weeks of one-handedness, and generous applications of anti-scar cream, my finger is neatly healed and the scar, such as it is, is barely noticeable.
And I am back to knitting.
Needless to say I haven’t got as much progress to show you as I’d like. Still, that new hot water bottle cover is nearly ready for bed.
The “Compass” (50/50 Bluefaced Leicester/Polwarth) from Laine des Isles has been a joy from the first stitch. After this, I think I really need to investigate purchasing a sweater quantity.
The entire lower part of the cover was, as I wrote last time, created as double knitting–a single row of stitches that, upon reaching full length and being taken off the needle, opened into a pouch.
I continued knitting in the round for about two more inches, adding a row of eyelets (each a simple double yarn over, knit two together) that will accommodate a drawstring to pull the bag closed around the neck of the bottle.
And above that, as a final flourish, I knit a striped, scalloped edge right onto the live stitches.
I was nearly finished with the edging when I realized that the result is pleasingly evocative of one of my favorite places in Paris: the Palais-Royal.
The Palais-Royal
The Palais-Royal was begun in 1633 as a residence (the Palais-Cardinal) for Cardinal Richelieu. It became the property of the French royal family upon Richelieu’s death in 1642. The version we see today was largely created under Louis-Philippe II, Duke of Orléans, who in the late 18th century added two theaters (one of which now houses the Comédie Française) and a set of lavish shopping arcades. It became a destination for luxury, leisure, and entertainment–which, aside from housing a few government agencies, it still is.
One of the arcades of the Palais-Royal
When the weather is warm and the trees are green, I love to sit on these benches and knit.
I know poetry is indispensable. But I don’t know for what.–Jean Cocteau
Striped awnings are pretty common in Paris (and throughout France); but the grey-and-white ones that are the signature of the Palais-Royal have always struck me as especially chic.
They’re echoed and amplified by sculptor Daniel Buren’s immense 1985 installation “Photo-Souvenir–Les Deux Plateaux” in the Cour d’Honneur (Courtyard of Honor), which is composed of rows of stone columns with black-and-white stripes.
Le Cour d’Honneur, Palais-Royal
If it sounds ridiculous that I’m claiming to see something as grand as the Palais-Royal in something as homely and workaday as a cover for a hot water bottle–well, yes. It is. Absolutely
However, as I begin to slide from the clear-eyed realism of my youth into a dimwitted old age of stuff and nonsense, I find that this is much more fun.
Cordialement,
Franklin
Ah Franklin, mon cherie,
You have started “mon matin pour moi” with a smile and a hearty laugh out loud (which I sincerely hope did NOT disturb my still sleeping husband).
Merci beaucoup for this much needed medecine for my heart & soul!
C’est magnifique! C’est bon! C’est ten knitting fingers, truth in stripes and architecture, and as always a fresh breath of air from another place. Thank you!!
Merci, Franklin! Many years ago, here in Maine, I managed to put a one-inch slice in my left index finger with a slightly dull bread knife – I was trying to slice a bagel. Off to the E.R. where (no waiting in those days) a kindly physician guessed “Ah, yes – cutting a bagel, right?” (At the time interns didn’t perform sewings-up on human extremities; probably they do now). Luckily no one was expecting me to do videos, since they hadn’t been invented yet. So now it’s practically invisible, as yours will be. Thank you for a good story, as always. Peace and love to you.
p.s. MDK: I sorely miss the “teaser” in my inbox every day, but I’m sure its demise saves plenty of time, and I know you have little to spare. And if the change allows your daily “letters” to continue, I won’t complain. Progress. Sigh.
Hi Ginny—We’re truly grateful that you read MDK regularly, and we dearly hope you’ll continue to hang with us. The email we’re sending every morning now is indeed a streamlined way to alert you of our newest free article each day. It takes you to our homepage, which has the new post as well as the latest news. We were spending more time than you might imagine, creating a brand-new email every single day. This new version allows us to let you know there’s a new post on MDK, and it means Hannah and Emily and Adrienne and I aren’t constantly scrambling to make that email.
If for some reason this email is no longer showing up for you, search “A New Post on MDK” to see if it has landed in your spam folder. Thanks again for being a part of MDK.
Check your spam folder. I still get one i believe.
I feel your pain re your finger. In july I sliced a piece of my left index finger off with a rotary cutter. Had to have the bleeding cauterized in the ER. The numbing shot in my finger and the cauterization hurt almost as much as slicing it.
I especially enjoyed your article today. Glad your finger is better.
Entertaining story (I could relate), gorgeous photos of Paris architecture, and inspired knitting…who could ask for more? Heal quickly!!
Oh wow, Franklin! You certainly make the day exciting! I was almost choking on my coffee while reading your tale. I think I had the same comedy duo stitch a gash in my leg a few years ago. They were so excited to learn the mattress stitch for deep wounds that they took ages to do precision work. So long in fact that I had to point out to them that the local anesthetic was wearing off…..lol! I do have a scar, but it was some pretty stitchery!!!
You’re de trop, Franklin.
I love the old postcard which says the hospital was “builded.” In came the doctor, in came the nurse, I was waiting for “the lady with the alligator purse.”
By the way, fans of “Emily in Paris” will surely recognize the Palais-Royal bench. It’s like the one Emily and Mindy sit on, just a stone’s throw from Emily’s office.
But doesn’t that look like an alligator purse in the photo with the knitting on the sewing machine?
Sewn bind-off…why didn’t I see that coming? Anything for a laugh, Franklin? So glad the scar is virtually invisible, though! And thank you for the beautiful Palais-Royal and all its stunning stripes.
I love everything that Franklin writes. I have just returned from a week in Paris and also adored the Palau’s Royal. You just want to breathe it in. Could Franklin give us some of his favorite yarn shops in Paris ( I will be returning there in April). Thank you so much for your love letters to us from Paris!!
The French ER description is BEYOND compare. And, the photos are stunning. Thank you for all of it. You completely jazz up my day. Every. Single. Time. Merci!
So glad your finger healed well, and love the hot water bottle cover.
Thank you for a delightful beginning to this day! I love your comparison of the pattern in your water bottle to the Palace! Seeing art and design everywhere is what makes things beautiful! I am so glad your finger is healing! The dialogue of the doctors was hilarious and maddening!
I have never really laughed at someone’s misfortune in the ER, until now. So glad your scar is minimal. We love you, Franklin!!!
Love this! I’ve been the knitter, bread-cutter, junior intern, senior intern and attending in your wonderful story. Being the knitter is by far the most relaxing.
I so enjoy Franklin’s commentary – for the view of Paris and its citizens, the bits of French language, the knitting, and especially the humor. Merci, Franklin!
How come you didn’t post a picture of your finger? Glad it’s all healed Franklin.
I am so glad that the finger is heal and that the scar is barely visible
Good genx Nintendo reference for those of us smoking weed under the bleachers
I applaud your French comprehension under such stressful circumstances and your restraint in not shouting for the doctor’s return! Glad it all came out well.
Your clever writing made my day!
I thoroughly enjoy your postings.
Lovely piece! Thank you.
Thank you, Franklin, for this wonderfully crazy (“Deux fois?” “Oui. Deux fois.”) and beautiful article. The photos of the Palais-Royal are gorgeous.
Thank you for being wholly, magically, witty, hilarious YOU!
Your thoughts, drawings and fiberings center me each day.
Juanita Robinson
Oh, dear, Franklin, I’m so sorry for your pain (having survived a “bagel cut” with a lazor-bladed knife many years ago), but couldn’t stop laughing as I read your report. I’m very happy it all turned out right!
I once gave myself an avocado-related injury. Then I learned that they are common. No scar, but my pinky fingertip is a little bit “pins and needles” sometimes. Glad you are well mended. Thank you for the Palais Royale info – we are planning to visit Paris this spring and I am reading your posts with even MORE interest!
As usual, your letter is must read. Thank you for bringing France to us. Y ou are a great illustrator and avid knitter, sharing what could be a bad memory, instead is a delightful look at an every day mishaps.
We all need a bit of stuff and nonsense to keep us on an even keel. Please, carry on.
My now 31-year old son had a serious accident when he was 13 (spoiler alert: he is completely fine) and has some seriously gnarly scars on his left calf. A few months later I was at the big quilt show in Houston, where a woman had a t-shirt that read “Scars are like tattoos, but with a better story.” I asked, but alas it was old and she had no idea where I could buy one.
[Backstory-13-year knucklehead rides bike to town, through teenaged idiocy and gravel on the road collides with the front left quarter panel of a Jeep going 35 mph (not driver’s fault). Broke all bones in left leg, one compound, airlift to larger hospital than local, 7 surgeries, 3 weeks in hospital, two transfusions, but resulting in complete recovery and an even stronger will to stay alive and more respect for large, fast machines].
And that photo of the arcade–fantastic framing, and the guy in the jaunty hat and his friend–perfection to bring the grand scale to human scale! Glad you are well and healed. Joyeux Noel et Bonne Annee!
Glad to know things worked out satisfactorily. I’d have been hysterical if subjected to those interns. Deux fois, indeed!
I wish I had sliced my left finger slicing a Parisian baguette! Alas, I was opening a plastic bag of frozen veggies by poking a knife tip through the plastic. I didn’t keep the fingers holding the bag curled, and voilà! But, I had a BSN degree for just these occasions and cleaned and closed it myself with steri strips. 30 years later, it’s a barely visible white line. That intern will always remember his first suture; the memory of you will live on.
Thank you for teaching me a new expletive to use when neither love nor money will keep my stitches on the needles! (P.S.: Indulge yourself. Get enough of that yarn for two sweaters.)
Merci, Franklin pour les belles photos et la histoire. So happy that it had a happy ending! Your posts are always a joy to read, just another testament to your boundless creative spirit! (And go for that sweater! That yarn does look delicious.)
I can appreciate what you went through with the interns. I’m a nurse and have worked with interns. The newest ones are like kindergartners! One in particular I remember, needed to take a temperature, but had no clue what to do. Somehow, he singled me out to help him. ( I was fairly new to nursing and I think the older nurses , having experienced what I was about to experience, refused to deal with the interns.) I explained to him how to take a temperature and made sure he understood how to read the thermometer. He managed the task with a lot of help from me. After that, he attached himself to me. I was his go-to source for every question he had. I was always busy with my patients so he was constantly interrupting my day. After he moved on, I took my cue from the other nurses and tried to avoid them as best I could. Unfortunately, I did feel for them as they were thrown into a situation they were not prepared for so I tried to help them when I could.
I could not possibly love this article more…..
I had to go to the urgent care during the height of Covid. Triage inquired anxiously as to what had brought me there, I held a swaddled thumb aloft and replied “pure dumbassery!”
They were so relieved to have a change of pace from people dying of respiratory failure, I felt as though my pain at least brought them a little joy. The reassuringly tattooed doctor made me feel right at home as we agreed that stitches on the edge of my thumb would be less effective than glue.
I inquired as to whether or not me passing out would make their day more difficult, and if I could lie down and not look. The doc briskly replied, “I’ll put the foot board up for you!”
It’s a happy memory probably because I wasn’t getting out much at the time.
Congrats on your new adventure and I’m glad your souvenir is tiny and unobtrusive.
It is absolutely more fun!! Glad you survived your ordeal.
Oh Franklin, I love your letters from Paris. Keep ‘em coming. Joyeuses fêtes et à la prochaine.
We Love Your Letters Franklin!! I always laugh at something that happens to you or sit in amazement over what you create! Thank you from the bottom of my heart! I had some skin cancer removed form my left hand and was restricted from knitting a few months back; did not make me happy. Glad the cancer is gone but not being allowed to knit was not enjoyable. Now I have the skinniest little scar because of the miraculous scar cream! Gotta love some progress! Have the most enjoyable holidays and I will be thinking about your adventures and smiling! Joyeuses Fêtes!!
“Cicatrice” is so dramatic!
Happy to hear your finger has recovered!
Darling man, I am SO grateful the lovely interns took good care of you. Scar or no, I would happily watch you tie surgeons knots or knit the Palais-Royale! Be careful with those knives!
Loved this. Thanks, Franklin. Did anyone else picture Audrey Hepburn and Cary Grant trying to survive assassins in the Palais-Royal in the movie Charade? One of my favorite movies which I can watch over and over.
Love your descriptions of the interns’ excitement! Getting older requires more focus and mindfulness to avoid those little accidents. I have to remind myself often!
Oh mon dieu! I’m so glad you survived the bread knife and the interns. But you left out the transport. Did you walk, ride the bus, or G7 to the hospital?? I hope the makeshift bandage wasn’t too bloody by the time you got there. I faint at the sight of blood. I’d never have survived
Franklin, you always just make my day!!!
Joyeux Noël!!!
Thank you for teaching me A very important new French word and that butter knives can cut you severely!
Take care!
Well. A lesson in French profanity; sutures; history; exterior design; and knitting. That was time well spent and I thank you. I’m also glad your finger has recovered and remains attached.
Once again, an excellent virtual tour of a part of Paris!
Thank you!
I am beginning to think that my reacquainting myself with el Español may have been shortsighted. Fortunately dear Franklin, you supply subtitles for the French so that I can still follow along. I am so sorry that you’d injured yourself, but your recovery was swift and the outcome good. Bagels should come pre-sliced,or perhaps be sold only to those who have been trained and have a license, kind of like driving a car. Thanks for adding some levity to a cloudy, cold day here in the states.
I cut my hand very badly while walking in Paris the year before last. A nice tourist lady had bandage material in her handbag and insisted on giving it to me, but it kept bleeding, so we went back to our hotel and asked where we should go for help. We were directed to several different pharmacies but none of them had anyone who wanted to help. So we took a taxi to an emergency room. A triage nurse washed my hand and rebandaged it, and then I sat in the waiting room (while my husband had to wait outside in the hot sun) for at least two hours, waiting for a doctor (or interns!) to stitch me up. There were several crazy people in the waiting room and things moved slowly. Finally my husband and I decided (via text) that this was not the way we wanted to spend out last day in Paris, so I left (sadly, it was too late to make it to the Tintin store). When I got home I went to urgent care with my then rather tired French bandage, and they said the wound was too old to stitch, but they put tape on it and it has (like yours, Franklin) healed just fine. I’m glad you didn’t really have to be steeked.
None of my visits to ER have gone as smoothly as yours, though I can certainly tell the stories in funny ways.
Glad your hand is healing well, a little scar proves you are living well
Franklin Habit is wonderful. Amusing and very worth reading.
Wonderful newsletter. The pictures are just stunning. Always look for grand things in everything!!!
I enjoyed this article very much, especially your last sentence about “sliding… into a dimwitted old age of stuff and nonsense.” I adore stuff and nonsense, and I think everyone needs more of it in their lives.
I also enjoyed your first issue of The Franklin Post.
Thank you so much for being you. Merci beaucoup!
Thanks so much!