Good times at the E.R.
So, hubby and I decided to sit down last night and watch the director's commentary on the new Serenity collector DVD, after we got Kokopelli off to bed. We brought cats and snacks with us downstairs, and settled in to watch. About halfway through, Zoë started scratching at the side of the sofa to get my attention (she only does that to me - I feel so special). So I reached down and picked her up to put her in my lap and protect my furniture.
Future note to self: the furniture is far less important than one's eyesight.
Zoë has cerebellar hypoplasia, a condition that causes her to have an extremely poor sense of balance, among other oddities. When I lifted her, I did it with one hand, not supporting her properly under her feet, because I wasn't using my brain, just paying attention to the movie. So Zoë did what she always does when off balance - flailed madly. And I haven't cut her nails in about 2 weeks.
She fishhooked me right through the eyelid. All the way through, around and back out again.
It turns out that, when faced with the possibility of losing my eyesight, I don't keep calm. I screamed bloody murder, while somewhow keeping the cat immobilized in my hands. Her claw was caught, and she doesn't just retract her claws like a normal cat might do in this situation. Kokopellidad had to seize her by the scruff so I could have a hand free to press her foot and force the claws to retract. After what seemed like six hours, but was probably less than a minute, we had secured my freedom from the feline.
I am proud that my next reaction was to say, "Don't hurt her - it was my fault, it was an accident..." etc., instead of feeling vengeful at all. (Not that my hubby would have hurt her in a million years.)
Adrenaline is a funy thing - I shook like crazy, crying hysterically, and Kokopellidad had a hard time persuading me to let go of my eye and let him look. It looked awful, but he couldn't tell if it got my eye or just the lid. I couldn't tell by feel if it had hit the eye, either. And cat claws are very filthy - just what you want in a wound in your cornea.
So we tucked a sleeping Kokopelli in the carseat, headed for the E.R., and they dropped me off right at midnight. Hubby wanted to come in and be with me, but I reminded him that you keep kids out of the hospital whenever possible, for their safety. Staph and other nasties lurk there!
Needless to say, I was fairly far down the priority list - Sunday night before Labor Day in an E.R. is full of people who did stupid things on the holiday weekend. There was the man who chopped into the top of his foot with an axe cutting wood for the bonfire, the man who hit the dock while jetskiing, the woman who had sliced her hand open slicing lemons for drinks at their party, etc. So I got seen at 3:30 a.m., by a kind doctor who said that he's not sure how she missed the cornea, as he could see the entry and exit wounds on the inside of my lid. But miss it she did, and this made me feel really silly for going to the E.R. for what boils down to a cat scratch!
As I was leaving, I made a comment to the Triage nurse about feeling silly for coming in, and he inclined his head toward an odd, hirsute man who was ambling around the E.R. in apparent perfect health, and said, "don't feel silly - you have to take care of your eyes. I'd have done the exact same thing. Besides, if you'll look around you" (here he indicated the hairy man) "you'll see people who SHOULD feel silly, and don't! Don't feel silly at all."
Every person I saw was nice, and kind, and friendly. No one made me feel like a doorknob for going to the E.R. for a cat scratch. Thumbs up to my local E.R.!
Future note to self: the furniture is far less important than one's eyesight.
Zoë has cerebellar hypoplasia, a condition that causes her to have an extremely poor sense of balance, among other oddities. When I lifted her, I did it with one hand, not supporting her properly under her feet, because I wasn't using my brain, just paying attention to the movie. So Zoë did what she always does when off balance - flailed madly. And I haven't cut her nails in about 2 weeks.
She fishhooked me right through the eyelid. All the way through, around and back out again.
It turns out that, when faced with the possibility of losing my eyesight, I don't keep calm. I screamed bloody murder, while somewhow keeping the cat immobilized in my hands. Her claw was caught, and she doesn't just retract her claws like a normal cat might do in this situation. Kokopellidad had to seize her by the scruff so I could have a hand free to press her foot and force the claws to retract. After what seemed like six hours, but was probably less than a minute, we had secured my freedom from the feline.
I am proud that my next reaction was to say, "Don't hurt her - it was my fault, it was an accident..." etc., instead of feeling vengeful at all. (Not that my hubby would have hurt her in a million years.)
Adrenaline is a funy thing - I shook like crazy, crying hysterically, and Kokopellidad had a hard time persuading me to let go of my eye and let him look. It looked awful, but he couldn't tell if it got my eye or just the lid. I couldn't tell by feel if it had hit the eye, either. And cat claws are very filthy - just what you want in a wound in your cornea.
So we tucked a sleeping Kokopelli in the carseat, headed for the E.R., and they dropped me off right at midnight. Hubby wanted to come in and be with me, but I reminded him that you keep kids out of the hospital whenever possible, for their safety. Staph and other nasties lurk there!
Needless to say, I was fairly far down the priority list - Sunday night before Labor Day in an E.R. is full of people who did stupid things on the holiday weekend. There was the man who chopped into the top of his foot with an axe cutting wood for the bonfire, the man who hit the dock while jetskiing, the woman who had sliced her hand open slicing lemons for drinks at their party, etc. So I got seen at 3:30 a.m., by a kind doctor who said that he's not sure how she missed the cornea, as he could see the entry and exit wounds on the inside of my lid. But miss it she did, and this made me feel really silly for going to the E.R. for what boils down to a cat scratch!
As I was leaving, I made a comment to the Triage nurse about feeling silly for coming in, and he inclined his head toward an odd, hirsute man who was ambling around the E.R. in apparent perfect health, and said, "don't feel silly - you have to take care of your eyes. I'd have done the exact same thing. Besides, if you'll look around you" (here he indicated the hairy man) "you'll see people who SHOULD feel silly, and don't! Don't feel silly at all."
Every person I saw was nice, and kind, and friendly. No one made me feel like a doorknob for going to the E.R. for a cat scratch. Thumbs up to my local E.R.!