Ouch
I tried to slice the top off my left ring finger yesterday but didn’t even make it as far as the bone. I got a fair way through the nail and even further through the fleshy part but upon realising what the fuck I was doing, just thought “Okay, so cutting the end of a crusty loaf of bread with a cleaver is a very bad idea.”
A few seconds of panic ensued and after grabbing some paper towel to stem the blood flow I took a few seconds by the sink to tell myself to calm down, remember the first-aid training and get down to the bathroom and clean it up.
I knew it really should be looked at by some person with a skerrick more medical knowledge than I possess. From my days in the lifeguarding caper, I’m still fairly good on airway management and ice packs but knowing whether one laceration is more deserving of stitches than another— well I don’t really know where that line lies, or whether it resembled the one across my finger from which blood was seeping as I fumbled, one-handed with a gauze pad, some scissors and a box of band aids.
There was also the matter that I was home with Little Miss M with no car and C “very busy” doing some shopping (and I totally expect us not to be making our January repayments in light of recent activity in that department). So it was the home treatment or bleed out. I patched it up rather neatly using a gauze pad and four strips. It throbbed all night.
I took my finger to the doctor this morning. I hadn’t seen this particular guy before and when I first saw him I thought he looked like a smug, conservative old doctor type but after our first exchange uncovered a mutual loathing of the waiting-room muzak, I immediately warmed to him.
He took me through to the nurse, where they both complimented me on my dressing prowess (the first aid dressing… not that fact that I had managed to do up my belt all by myself like a big boy). We cut the dressing off, then she put me through the most excruciating pain I’ve felt in at least a week as she applied those sticky little strips, pushing the bits of disjointed flesh together. There’s a lot of nerve endings in fingers and a lot of them were getting pissed off.
They did give me a lolly at the end of it too, so I was pretty chuffed with that. It’s still throbbing now, so even though I could write more about the other parts of my body currently causing me discomfort, I’m using too many Ss and Ws to make the typing process bearable.
I’ve just realised though, that this should get me off the hook for playing a song on guitar at the in-laws’ on Xmas eve… well worth keeping the cleaver nice and sharp in that respect.
