"Woody, get that fucking finger trap!"
I wish I had a funny, hell I'd settle for witty, opening line for this entry. But. I don't. So instead, lucky reader, yet me start by saying this- ouch. Why 'ouch'? Because I spent my Thursday night in the ER.
This was my second trip to the ER since September, which makes me special in a sad kind of way. I tried to avoid the trip, but my roomies have the silly idea that a cut shouldn't bleed for two hours straight. (Yet another medical mystery- why not so much with the clotting, blood?) But I'm getting ahead of myself. I have a very good explaintion of why and how I cut my finger- I was cutting matboard for my color class with my boxcutter. Oh, yes, I basically took off a piece of pointer finger with a boxcutter (warning- this story is bloody). Just let that stew in your brain for a moment. A large knife and my tiny, child sized finger. Can you hear me swearing yet? See the tears?
I honestly shocked this didn't happen earlier, but when it happened, I really wished it hadn't. It hurt like a motherfucker. I truly believe I could only say fuck for the next ten mintues. All I could think was, "Fuck, this is not a good thing!" I tried to think of my first aid training only to realize that I never had first aid training. Which is kinda lame since my mom works for the Red Cross. This line of thinking continued until I remembered that Ker has a first aid kit. A first aid kit! Sweet deal, I'm saved!! Of course, I just bleed on everything and had to open a band-aid with my teeth. The band-aid was a total bust because I bleed though it in five mintues.
Ker came back to find blood in random and not so random places in the suite- the sink, the floor, the hallway, the coffee table and myself, curled up in a ball on the couch with a death grip on a bloodly towel. Since Ker actually has first aid training, she took one look at me and said, "Jesus, what did you do!" Not waiting for an answer, she put on gloves and demaned to see my finger. The only thing I associate medicine with is pain, so I said, "No, I'm fine."
Ker looked at me. "Go in the bathroom, I need to see it. "
"Hey, it just a cut"
"No, that's more than just a cut"
"Really, you think?"
"Yes, I think it's serious."
"Crap."
One look at the cut, and she went from worried to full-blown scared. That was the moment I knew I was going to the ER. Crap.
(Part two tomorrow, cause I can't really type right now!)
This was my second trip to the ER since September, which makes me special in a sad kind of way. I tried to avoid the trip, but my roomies have the silly idea that a cut shouldn't bleed for two hours straight. (Yet another medical mystery- why not so much with the clotting, blood?) But I'm getting ahead of myself. I have a very good explaintion of why and how I cut my finger- I was cutting matboard for my color class with my boxcutter. Oh, yes, I basically took off a piece of pointer finger with a boxcutter (warning- this story is bloody). Just let that stew in your brain for a moment. A large knife and my tiny, child sized finger. Can you hear me swearing yet? See the tears?
I honestly shocked this didn't happen earlier, but when it happened, I really wished it hadn't. It hurt like a motherfucker. I truly believe I could only say fuck for the next ten mintues. All I could think was, "Fuck, this is not a good thing!" I tried to think of my first aid training only to realize that I never had first aid training. Which is kinda lame since my mom works for the Red Cross. This line of thinking continued until I remembered that Ker has a first aid kit. A first aid kit! Sweet deal, I'm saved!! Of course, I just bleed on everything and had to open a band-aid with my teeth. The band-aid was a total bust because I bleed though it in five mintues.
Ker came back to find blood in random and not so random places in the suite- the sink, the floor, the hallway, the coffee table and myself, curled up in a ball on the couch with a death grip on a bloodly towel. Since Ker actually has first aid training, she took one look at me and said, "Jesus, what did you do!" Not waiting for an answer, she put on gloves and demaned to see my finger. The only thing I associate medicine with is pain, so I said, "No, I'm fine."
Ker looked at me. "Go in the bathroom, I need to see it. "
"Hey, it just a cut"
"No, that's more than just a cut"
"Really, you think?"
"Yes, I think it's serious."
"Crap."
One look at the cut, and she went from worried to full-blown scared. That was the moment I knew I was going to the ER. Crap.
(Part two tomorrow, cause I can't really type right now!)