GreatRidge Station

I’ve found it hard to type over the past week or so, hence, no new postings. Last week, while using a utility knife to cut a piece of foam insulation, I managed to slip and lacerate my finger. I washed it with hydrogen peroxide, (::gross out warning::) stared at it a while because it was cool to see how the tendon was attached to the joint (::end gross out::), then wrapped it up and went to dinner with my wife and some friends. The good news is that my utility knife was very sharp, so after the initial cut, the pain was almost non-existent. I’m thankful for that because I am a total wimp.
When we got home, I asked my wife to look at it and replace the dressing, since she is, in her words, “a highly-trained medical professional.” She has seen it all–and as an X-ray technologist and ultrasonographer by trade, she has done medical images on trauma patients. Imagine my surprise, then, when she said “Ewww.” She insisted that I go to the Emergency Room.

Here’s the short version of what happened. We went in, I described my injuries, and then sat down in the waiting area, where I waited. And waited. And waited. Finally, when I could wait no more, I waited some more. They ushered me into one of the ward rooms, and then a steady stream of people began parading through. Did you cut your finger? When was your last tetanus shot? Which finger did you cut? Same three questions, over and over. And from me, the same three answers, over and over. Yes. I don’t remember. Probably the one I have the bandage on.

So they gave me a new tetanus shot, unwrapped and disinfected my finger, and then the doctor came in: “You have what we doctors like to call an owie.” Okay, he didn’t really say that, but I wish he had.

Three hours and three stitches after I arrived, my lovely bride took me back home. For future reference, that’s one hour per stitch, so if you are in a hurry, it’s best to hurt yourself only a little to save time.

Now, if I had any sense, I’d end the story there. But we all know better than that. I had cut the middle finger on my left hand, and the next morning, I’m off and about my business when four people (including three strangers) said: “What did you do, flip off the wrong person?” I was literally batting 1.000 on that comment. So I wrapped up the finger next to it as well. All the comments stopped. Hmm.

That’s the story of my week and my wound.

This entry was posted on Tuesday, September 4th, 2007 at 6:40 am and is filed under Delight, Stuff & Detritus. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Responses are currently closed, but you can trackback from your own site.