Onions

When I went back to the fracture clinic, I was told not to lift anything or push anything in order not to damage the sewn-up elbow: not even lifting up a cup of tea. It was a bit late. I wanted to take sure that my arm still worked as soon as possible, but once you receive an instruction you have to obey it.
All sorts of things catch you out: I got an onion from the fridge and The World's Sharpest Knife to chop it with to make pasta sauce. Into the middle of the onion I plunged the knife, and then couldn't get it out again.
Automatically, I started to push the onion with the left hand and pull the knife with the right, before realising that this was forbidden.
I tried whacking the onion on the chopping board to try to dislodge the knife, then wedging it on the side of the board and yanking it.
I tried to wiggle the knife (it wouldn't wiggle).
I tried waving the onion around in the air, hoping that the momentum would loosen it. Nope.
Finally, I called on Almighty God of Pasta Sauces for superhuman strength in the right hand.
With the whole of the weight of my body, I charged a the onion/knife combo and managed to make a tiny bit of leeway.
Again!
Again!
Finally and under great protest, the onion caved in enough to be sawed into sections by The World's Sharpest Knife. Stupid thing to feel a sense of triumph about, but there you go.