September 19th, 2009

running, bomb tech

Two Stitches (resulting from an incident involving a glass, a steak knife, and YouTube.)

Warning for people with medical/injury squicks: I am fine now, and on the mend; anything below the cut is probably more detail than you wanted, complete with images. Contains no horror from medical professionals, however.


Oh, what a day. What a day. Will I ever live this one down? I can, however, say that I have indeed had stitches (first time that I've had to have them), and that it is due to an incident involving a glass, a steak knife, and YouTube.


This is how it all started:

Reading down my reading page this morning, I saw that [info - syndicated] smartbitches_feed had brought me

GlitterBanditz!



In case the name wasn't clear enough, there is more glitter in this than ten Edward Cullens, a Pride parade, and an entire disco. It is also hella catchy and enthusiastic. I found myself bouncing around in my computer chair, gleefully flailing my nightgowned arms in time with their antics.

A crash, from the adjacent laptop table, not even two minutes in.

A sudden halt to my flailings as I stared at Collapse ) I had left the aforementioned steak knife point-up in the innocent glass on the laptop table, rather than carrying it over to the sink as I ought to have last night. Dirty, of course. Ham and mashed potatoes.

It did not hurt as much as I thought it ought to. I headed over to the sink where I rinsed the wound under the tap and tried to assess the damage.

Collapse ), and that it really ought to be cleaned out by a trained professional. My last tetnus shot was whenever I twisted my ankle last, probably in '01; I would probably need antibiotics. I would need to see a doctor. DAMMIT, AND ME WITH NO INSURANCE. Oh well, things like not dying of blood poisoning were good reasons to see doctors. First things first, though. Collapse ) I realized that I could not keep pressing on it forever; I hunted down one of the velcro-ended bandages I typically use on my wrists for a carpal tunnel flare-up, and wrapped it neatly.

Back to the computer I went, in search of a suitable urgent care facility, and to share my shame with the internet, as the sheer ridiculousness of the situation had hit me early and hard. One hand on the mouse told me that actually, perhaps my plan to drive myself to said urgent care facility was a generally shortsighted and foolish, given that moving my right arm in normal ways was not going too well. I debated calling JD and seeing if he could bus over, and then drive me, but common sense again overrode my inclination to not bother people, and I determined I would call my aunt.

First things first, however. I got dressed, bemoaning my lack of foresight in not showering earlier. Pro tip: behind-the-back bra-fastening is not recommended with this kind of injury. I felt generally icky, even after I attacked myself with a washcloth. Then I called my aunt.

Me: "Hi! ...Are you doing anything this morning?"
Aunt: "No..."
Me: "Could you drive me to urgent care, please?"
Aunt: !!! "I'll be right over." !!!
Me: "Don't worry; I'm not bleeding much."
Aunt: "I'LL BE RIGHT OVER!!!"

I popped a book into my bag and headed out to wait for her, hand at the level of my eyes. She whisked me off to her favorite emergency room, dropped me off at the entrance, then went off to find parking in the hellish lot.

The security guy advised me to fill out the triage form as best I could, eyeing the prominent bandage wrapped around my right forearm. (I am, of course, right-handed.) It was a short form. I described my injury succinctly: "Stab wound right forearm (stupid)."

Triage saw me fairly promptly; I had amused them with my description. I went into a little more detail. I was not in a lot of pain, and I was keeping my spirits up with the sheer slapstick cracktastic glory of it all, and the thought of relating the whole tale to the internet.

Collapse )

The wait was enlivened somewhat by the other people in the emergency ward. Collapse )

At length a doctor for me came in, examined my wound, and told me the game plan. Collapse )

There was more waiting, and he returned.

Collapse )

After 24 hours, I can get it wet. I cannot wait.

At length, someone came around, gave me instructions, and told me I could go. My aunt went to fetch the car. I waited for the financial person to get back. The price is painful. She gave me some hoops to try jumping through.

They deemed another tetnus shot was not necessary; given that I only showed up as a 1-2 pain, they didn't see the need to offer me srs bizns drugs to take home either. I was a little apprehensive about that, particularly given that I don't feel that I deal with pain well, but I didn't feel the need to ask, and it seems to be doing OK so far. For some hours it was aching even when not disturbed at about a 2, and when disturbed at a 3+, but it was only as bad as the day after a day of overexerting myself walking, and quite decently bearable given that it was only in my forearm and not in both legs, part of my back, and my upper arms too.

I snapped a few shots of the knife before washing it. I didn't have a ruler to hand, but I put it up next to an object of knowable length, a BART card, which is the same size as a standard credit card. Collapse )

I spent a certain amount of time on the phone, assortedly reassuring people about my well-being and cracking up laughing. ("I guess that was a mis-steak?" my best friend put in, along with several others in that vein.)

Later on in the evening, the constant ache died down. Currently, it only hurts when I make complex maneuvers such as twisting or bending, and it's no more than a 2, maybe a 3 if it's behind my back.

Crossposted. comment count unavailable comments.
yelling

12 tweets for 2009-9-19

In the last 24 hours, I posted the following to Twitter:


Follow me on Twitter.