"A Cut Above"

By Jerry Zezima

Blood, goes a familiar idiom, which can now be applied to this familiar idiot, is thicker than water.

That’s why I needed approximately a gallon of water — as well as a box of Kleenex, two Band-Aids and a styptic pencil — to stanch the flow of blood that reddened my face after I cut myself shaving.

The slice of life occurred when I attempted to remove the three-day bristle that made me look like I was turning into a werewolf.

I lathered my visage with shaving cream and used a two-bladed razor to smooth out the situation. I have always been afraid to buy one of those razors with five blades, which would more than double the chances I’d slit my throat.

And it happened anyway.

Actually, the unkindest cut of all was cheek by jowl on my left jawline. I carefully ran the razor over my chops and neck until I nicked one tiny spot that immediately began to bubble on the stubble.

I didn’t think much of it — I nick myself with alarming regularity — so I got a tissue, wet it and put it on the cut while applying pressure. Pretty soon, the whole tissue was red. I got another one, wet it and put it on the cut while applying more pressure.

I rinsed and repeated about a dozen times before I began to worry that: (a) I would run out of tissues, (b) our water bill would go through the roof or (c) I’d need a transfusion.

So I put a Band-Aid on the cut. Blood went with the flow and trickled down my neck. I tore off the soggy crimson covering and put on another one with the same frightening result. At least I didn’t faint at the sight of my own blood.

Fast-forward two hours. I was still bleeding. Now I was thinking: Should I go to a walk-in clinic? How about calling an ambulance? Would I need to be stitched up like the Frankenstein monster?

Even worse, I imagined the headline on my obituary:

Man Bleeds to Death While Shaving

Widow says he was a pain in his own neck

Then I began to feel lightheaded. Of course, it’s how I always feel. But now there was a medical reason.

So I called the best medical person I know: my mother, a retired nurse who is 101 years old and still as sharp as — that’s right! — a razor blade.

Mom was getting her hair done. I told her that I cut myself shaving.

“What did you use?” she asked.

“A regular razor,” I told her.

“Don’t you have an electric razor?” she said.

“Yes,” I answered. “But my stubble was too thick and I worried I would either clog it up or get electrocuted.”

When I told Mom about my failed efforts to clog the cut, she said, “You have to figure out what the bleeding time is.”

“It’s about 2 o’clock,” I said.

My mother sighed and said, “You have to apply pressure.”

“I’ve done that,” I said. “What else can I do?”

“You might have to go to the emergency room,” she suggested.

Instead, I drove to a pharmacy for a styptic pencil, a stick of a medicated styptic substance that is used to stop the bleeding from small cuts.

“We have one more left,” said a helpful staffer.

“Do a lot of guys come in for styptic pencils because they cut themselves shaving?” I asked.

“Yes,” she replied as she eyed the Band-Aid on my jaw.

“I guess we should be more careful,” I said.

I paid $4.29 for the styptic pencil, took it home and put it on my cut. The bleeding finally stopped.

“I saved my life,” I told my wife. “And just in the nick of time.”

Copyright 2026 by Jerry Zezima