[Margaret lets out a held breath. It's not as bad as it looks. Thank God. Her hands have started to tremble, slightly--they never used to tremble like this. Did it really only take two months in this place for her to lose her touch? Impossible. She's fine in the hospital operating room. So why now?

She quashes down any thoughts of doubt or anxieties for the moment, as she's trained herself to do.]

You can put your hand back. Hope you weren't too attached to this shirt. [She tries to offer Sans a reassuring grin.] Okay. I can help with this. I'm going to clean the wound, remove any debris, and then sew it closed. Alright? Give me a second to grab some stuff.

[She dashes out of the room, grabbing a plate from the kitchen. She fills a pot of water on the stove to boil, then dashes through the house to find supplies. It's deeply unfortunate that she doesn't have latex gloves in the house, but she's worked under worse conditions. She makes a mental note to grab some from the hospital the next time she has a shift. When she returns to the bathroom, she's assembled a plate full of supplies. She sits on her knees, laying out her tools on the floor.]

I'm surprised how calm you've been so far. Most people would've probably wigged out by now.