Saturday, July 11, 2015

The Tale of One Finger

Day 1: 

4th of july, I had a knife fight with a bunch of lovely purple asters. These dainties have stems like tree trunks. They laughed at my scissors so I got out a giant kitchen knife and starting swinging. Turns out my finger lacks garden-caliber tensile strength.

I was remarkably calm as blood started squirting all over the kitchen It's-just-a-flesh-wound style. After I shrieked we needed to go to the hospital STAT, Tom came running over with a tiny wad of sterile gauze and my insurance card. We dashed downstairs and I flagged down a cab with a blue schmata wrapped around my hailing hand.

TOURIST TIP: Flagging a cab by waving around a bloody blue schmata proved weirdly effective. A driver pulled over almost immediately.

“Take us to the ER!” 

We ended up at the urgent care place on 23rd Street which we remembered was there as we drove past it. First they made me fill out a bunch of forms which I bled all over. I wasn’t overly upset about the mess as I felt it expedited our wait time.

In the exam room, a medical assistant came rushing in. Initially I was pleased at the speed of the care until I figured out she was there to take my blood pressure, temperature and pulse. Meanwhile, I sat in the chair holding the bloody blue towel over my head to achieve elevation and pressure. I asked the girl whether she was checking if I was bleeding out. She ignored me.

Then came another medical assistant. He inquired whether I had a current tetanus shot. I told him luckily that dog bit me on the leg two summers ago and then there was that time I welded my thumb and also the incident with the cat and the hypodermic needle. So yes, I had a confidently up to date tetanus shot.

bam bam bam and 5 stitches later, I got all gauzed up. 





I had time to chat up the doctor. I wanted to know if she handled a lot of stitch cases. She said, "Oh yes, we’re right across the street from Eataly." 

I had not previously suspected the dangers of olive oil shopping. Or, more likely, cooking classes. We returned home. Tom decided to take a nap. Then we went to brooklyn for fireworks.





Day 2: 

Have been typing emails to people that contain sentences like:
  • going in lichen again.
  • pushoff unltss be ther
  • deep estimates5gf
  • internsl hralth for meaning


Day 3: 

I got a new bandage. It was purple. The nurse in charge of the bandage change operation told me that there was a glump of dried blood stuck on my stitches and she would need to “abrade the wound.” 

Abrade the wound? WTF. 

This is where euphemisms matter, medical professional people. Tell me you’d recommend a little exfoliation to freshen things up a bit and maybe I won’t demand a round of opioids or imagine myself passing out and sliding off the exam table onto the cold linoleum floor.



Day 4: 

Multiple people have advised against going into the kitchen ever again. For safety’s sake, I’m tending toward the recommendation.

Day 5: 

I stood in front of a corporate boardroom table pointing at slides with my purple finger. I noted for my audience this was really unexpected. Who knew a purple finger could be such a handy presentation device. 

Day 6: 

My finger and the empire state building.

My purple finger and the Empire State Building



We’ll see what the future holds. Stitches coming out Monday. 
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