Tuesday, March 16, 2010
"If not a tattoo as a lifelong souvenir, why not a scar?" or, "Why God created *plastic* cups"
These past 2 days have not been fun ones. It all started around 9:15 pm on Sunday. I was washing my dishes after dinner, and as I was washing my glass, it slipped from my hand and as an automatic reaction I tried to grab it before it broke. I guess it hit the sink and broke before my hand reached it and that's when I cut the top of my middle finger of my right hand, from my knuckle all the way down to where my finger meets my palm. It didn't even really hurt when it happened. It started bleeding ridiculously and I was concerned that it was like a situation of a cut wrist, loosing a lot of blood quickly. But after it happened, I did feel like I was going to pass out. I called Caroline and she came over to help me. She asked if there was any french student on my floor who we could ask what to do. I said the girl across the hall, so she knocked on her door, and it just so happens that her boyfriend was there, who is in medical school and had a car, so he took me to the hospital. I was very lucky, because if there hadn't been anyone, I would have either had to call Sylvie, which would have made me feel really had since it was late and she lives really far outside of town, or I would have had to suck it up and wait until the next day to go to the hospital. Once I was there, I had to wait maybe 20 minutes or so before I was called back. They started by what they said would be 10-15 minutes of soaking my hand in an antibiotic, which turned out to be longer than an hour. Then a nurse guy came in and hand me flex my hand, which made it continue to bleed like a faucet. Then bandaged it up and left me in the room. It was maybe between 12 and 2 am when they took me back for an x-ray to see if there was any glass in my hand. The x-ray showed nothing. Then I waited some more, and finally around 4 am, another nurse came and put an I-V in my arm and finally I was wheel-chaired to my bed where they said I would spend the night. The next I woke up to them taking my blood pressure (which they seemed to do every single hour I was there), then I was accompanied to the shower, and had to wash with this weird iodine-looking stuff. I did not feel clean after that. Not to mention that I hadn't even brought any clean underwear. I didn't know when I left my dorm that I'd be at the hospital for 2 days. Then around 11 or so, I was taken to the anesthesia room. They injected some hard-core numbing medicine in my arm which completely deadened it. I also felt like loopy too. But I wasn't put out. The surgery lasted about 20 minutes. I didn't see or feel a thing. Thank god, because I didn't want to. I was hoping I would have been able to have this done the night I came in, but the surgeon wasn't in at that time. After that I just chill-laxed in my room, reading magazines a library lady came to lend me and TV channels in french, german, spanish, italian, and arabic. The only 2 channels in english were BBC and CNBC, which were both extremely boring. All they talked about was stocks. They'd taken out the old lady I was sharing the room with for her surgery I guess, so it was nice to have the room to myself. Sylvie came and saw me for a while and brought me crispy M&Ms and mint mentos, which made me happy. Eventually the lady from Social Security came to talk to me about how I was gonna pay for all this hospital stuff. This was a conversation I wasn't too excited about. She kept asking all these insurance questions I didn't know jack about and kept asking me about how much money I was receiving and stuff. It was just annoying and I gave her Sylvie's number and she said she'd be back the next day. Last night I would have slept pretty well, but I swear the nurses were coming in every 10 minutes to take my stupid blood pressure and waking me up every single time. I'm pretty sure my blood pressure isn't gonna change between then and the other 50 times they came in to check it. And I hated the I-V. I guess it was for an intense pain killer, but geez... this whole thing seemed like a bit much for a finger cut. It was actually a little more than that though. I cut it so deeply, I sliced a tendon as well. It was sick, I could literally *lift* the patch of wrinkly skin that covers my knuckle. Before I left, I was taken to the place where they make casts and stuff, where they made me a sort of brace for my forearm and finger. It's to hold my finger in the right position so the tendon heals the right way. The Social Security lady came back. Oh joy. Thankfully she got there the same time Sylvie did, and they figured out that they would send the bill directly to my parents and they could take it up with the insurance company, because I didn't want to deal with it. I hate dealing with this official financial business when it's in *english*. Everyone seems to think that I wont be able to do anything now. They were all concerned if I was going to be able to dress and feed myself, do my grocery shopping and cleaning. Please. It's one finger I can't bend and I have 9 others that work fine. Granted it's not easy. But the stitches are the kind that will eventually fall off within 15 days and the brace I'm supposed to wear for 6 weeks. Today when Sylvie took me from the hospital, we kinda sorta forgot to, check-out? The nurse called me about 6 times to tell me that I left without signing papers, getting my pain killer prescription, and my bandages. I called her back and I think she was kinda pissed, maybe not so much at me, but at Sylvie. She tried getting me to come back there this evening by asking me if I knew anyone who had a car and could drive me back there. I told her no, because I don't. And honestly I'm not gonna die if I don't have liquid vicodin in my body for 24 hours. They're so insistent here, and it's kind of annoying. After I get my stuff from the hospital tomorrow, I hope they leave me alone. Unfortunately if I do end up starting to hurt really badly before tomorrow, I can't take the ibuprofen that I have because she said it would make me bleed. Ok? Never heard that one. So the lesson I've learned? Plastic from now on.