For quite a while after the accident, I was terrified of a fork. Now I think I am suffering from a new form of PTSD - I cut power to my food processor between every batch, I hid my mandoline in the furthest darkest corner of my kitchen, I catch myself being slightly terrified every time the cooking show cuts to the knife waiting for the dude to chop off his fingers. At this point it is more of a drama than a tragedy. Here is the state of the fingertip three months after:
