Wednesday, September 20, 2006
Dude, I Sliced My Hand Open
At work last Saturday I cut my hand. I was dumping the trash and someone had left a tin can lid in the trash bag. I picked up the bag, slung it in the dumpster, and felt something slice through my left hand. Just imagine, you get to work and five minute later you hand is sliced open. You look down and a mixture of blood and cheese cover the space between your middle and index fingers.
Luckily both managers we're there. And one of the employees was in nursing school; she gave me first aid.
Off to the emergency room. On the way I wondered, should I put on the emergency blinkers and drive 90 mph to get there faster? Well, it was a football weekend for my almer mater, and the cops were out in droves. I kept "close" to the speed limit.
After 20 minutes of driving, I get to the hospital. Frell, the parking lot was like a freaking lab rat maze. I parked in the parking deck and wondered through the hospital trying to find my way to the emergency room.
I got there. They checked me in. Then came the questions. Two stuck out, "can we help you with any spiritual needs?"
"No, I'm okay." I didn’t really care I just wanted my hand patched up.
"What is your religious preference?"
"!@#$%^%^&*()," I thought, in the confusion I muttered, "Christian."
"Baptist, Methodist, Catholic, Protestant, Episcopal, yadda yadda yadda."
"Uhh, Protestant." Again I didn't care. I wanted my hand patched up. Although I didn't want any Satan worshipers patching me up, but I didn't think about that 'til later.
After that, I waited in the lobby for 30 minutes or so. Surprise. The nurse was an old classmate. She was a music therapy major. I guess she went on to become an LPN. We chatted a bit, then she left to do her other duties.
About 3 hours later, the doctor came in. She was pissed. Someone had misplaced my file. Scary.
She took a look. "Stitches." Crap! More pain. She walked out, chewed out someone for misplacing the file, and ordered the stuff to patch me up. After a while, she came back with a tray of needles and liquids and towels and thread.
"Is this gonna hurt?"
"Hmm, it'll burn a little, but not too bad."
I thought, "Yeah, right." I laid down, and she spread hospital green towel separating my left arm and my body.
"Do what you gotta do, doc." I braced myself for the pain.
"Okay, stick." It stuck. I waited for the pain. Dude, she was right. It burned a little, but it wasn't too bad. I felt fluid ooze throughout the wound.
"Stick." More ooze. It left good.
A few seconds later, "You ready?"
"Okay, go!" She inserted the needle and started sewing me up. It was strange to feel the thread going through my skin. It felt the way a kite pulls against the string. I needed two stitches.
Talk about an adventure. Anyway, the stitches get taken out in 8 more days. So I won’t be able to ride until then. And I just installed some new Volae handlebars.
Luckily both managers we're there. And one of the employees was in nursing school; she gave me first aid.
Off to the emergency room. On the way I wondered, should I put on the emergency blinkers and drive 90 mph to get there faster? Well, it was a football weekend for my almer mater, and the cops were out in droves. I kept "close" to the speed limit.
After 20 minutes of driving, I get to the hospital. Frell, the parking lot was like a freaking lab rat maze. I parked in the parking deck and wondered through the hospital trying to find my way to the emergency room.
I got there. They checked me in. Then came the questions. Two stuck out, "can we help you with any spiritual needs?"
"No, I'm okay." I didn’t really care I just wanted my hand patched up.
"What is your religious preference?"
"!@#$%^%^&*()," I thought, in the confusion I muttered, "Christian."
"Baptist, Methodist, Catholic, Protestant, Episcopal, yadda yadda yadda."
"Uhh, Protestant." Again I didn't care. I wanted my hand patched up. Although I didn't want any Satan worshipers patching me up, but I didn't think about that 'til later.
After that, I waited in the lobby for 30 minutes or so. Surprise. The nurse was an old classmate. She was a music therapy major. I guess she went on to become an LPN. We chatted a bit, then she left to do her other duties.
About 3 hours later, the doctor came in. She was pissed. Someone had misplaced my file. Scary.
She took a look. "Stitches." Crap! More pain. She walked out, chewed out someone for misplacing the file, and ordered the stuff to patch me up. After a while, she came back with a tray of needles and liquids and towels and thread.
"Is this gonna hurt?"
"Hmm, it'll burn a little, but not too bad."
I thought, "Yeah, right." I laid down, and she spread hospital green towel separating my left arm and my body.
"Do what you gotta do, doc." I braced myself for the pain.
"Okay, stick." It stuck. I waited for the pain. Dude, she was right. It burned a little, but it wasn't too bad. I felt fluid ooze throughout the wound.
"Stick." More ooze. It left good.
A few seconds later, "You ready?"
"Okay, go!" She inserted the needle and started sewing me up. It was strange to feel the thread going through my skin. It felt the way a kite pulls against the string. I needed two stitches.
Talk about an adventure. Anyway, the stitches get taken out in 8 more days. So I won’t be able to ride until then. And I just installed some new Volae handlebars.
# posted by funbun @ 9:32 AM 
