Blood, Sweat and Tears…
Aug. 5th, 2003 01:00 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jamesqWhat is three things I've invested into my Dad's house in the last three months, Alex?
My brother, brother-in-law and I were tearing out the floor of the Cyr ancestral home yesterday. We had to flip the toilet over and but in a new seal, to go with the new floor by brother was installing. As we do that, my ass caught the edge of the bathroom sink. It lifted off the drain pipe - And I thought these things were supposed to be bolted on - but it could be another legacy of my dad's tendency to do jobs fast and shoddy.
Lightning fast, I whipped around to catch the now falling sink. Just as I grab it, it hits the drain pipe obliquely, breaking into several razor sharp pieces. Next thing I know, blood is pouring from the middle finger of my right hand. We rush upstairs to the sink, where I attempt to clean out the wound. Washing reveals brief glimpses of the biggest wound I've ever had. Now, I've never broken a bone or needed stitches before, owing to native toughness, a high pain threshold and a little bit of luck, but even so, I can tell that this needs a lot of stitches to close.
So my brother-in-law Mike and I get into his car and drive down to the 8th & 8th clinic, where I proceeded to wait for 90 minutes. Now I'm not complaining - the other people were there first, and nobody was getting pushed to the end of the line due to life-threatening injuries. And there was a five year old kid in front of me in line with an almost identical injury (though I doubt the cause was the same). I wasn't bleeding all over the floor or anything so I was OK with waiting.
Eventually a triage nurse saw me and escorted me to the treatment areas. I sat on a gurney for an hour and managed to flirt with the nurse who gave me my tetanus shot. Why? Well you remember the Worst Toilet in Scotland? This was the Worst Sink in Canada (plus we had just emptied the last little bit of water that wouldn't flush away from the toilet into it). Oh, you mean "why flirt with the nurse"? Because she was cute and friendly of course.
Wailing sounds of torture beyond imagining coming from the suture room
The doctor came up and checked out my finger. He seemed underwhelmed - oh well, after you've been into someone's chest, I assume a wound to the finger is passé.
Here's what he did:
Thank heavens for the freezing, I was able to watch the stitching with a damn-that's-cool attitude, rather than being held down by several security guards while I cussed a blue streak.
Finally, the Doc put my finger into this weird cross between a gauze dispenser and a sausage tube producer. Apparently men (including me) always comment on how cool it looks, but women never do.
I went back to Casa Cyr with Mike, who had waited patiently for two and a half hours (welcome to Alberta). My nephew Billy (age six) was suitably impressed - unlike that jaded doctor.
Later, at Ggothic Towers I logged on for the first time all weekend and had to answer my email. I also got instant messaged by just about everyone, forcing me to regale them with my tales of woe over and over again, while trying to touch type without using my middle finger. Ugh.
Tall Tales I've Told About My Injury:
My brother, brother-in-law and I were tearing out the floor of the Cyr ancestral home yesterday. We had to flip the toilet over and but in a new seal, to go with the new floor by brother was installing. As we do that, my ass caught the edge of the bathroom sink. It lifted off the drain pipe - And I thought these things were supposed to be bolted on - but it could be another legacy of my dad's tendency to do jobs fast and shoddy.
Lightning fast, I whipped around to catch the now falling sink. Just as I grab it, it hits the drain pipe obliquely, breaking into several razor sharp pieces. Next thing I know, blood is pouring from the middle finger of my right hand. We rush upstairs to the sink, where I attempt to clean out the wound. Washing reveals brief glimpses of the biggest wound I've ever had. Now, I've never broken a bone or needed stitches before, owing to native toughness, a high pain threshold and a little bit of luck, but even so, I can tell that this needs a lot of stitches to close.
So my brother-in-law Mike and I get into his car and drive down to the 8th & 8th clinic, where I proceeded to wait for 90 minutes. Now I'm not complaining - the other people were there first, and nobody was getting pushed to the end of the line due to life-threatening injuries. And there was a five year old kid in front of me in line with an almost identical injury (though I doubt the cause was the same). I wasn't bleeding all over the floor or anything so I was OK with waiting.
Eventually a triage nurse saw me and escorted me to the treatment areas. I sat on a gurney for an hour and managed to flirt with the nurse who gave me my tetanus shot. Why? Well you remember the Worst Toilet in Scotland? This was the Worst Sink in Canada (plus we had just emptied the last little bit of water that wouldn't flush away from the toilet into it). Oh, you mean "why flirt with the nurse"? Because she was cute and friendly of course.
"I'm going to give you a shot in the arm now. Remember, you're not allowed to cry."And then I sat there for another hour while the kid was in the suture room ahead of me. Man, did that kid have a set of lungs.
"Can I hold the back of my hand to my forehead and say 'woe is me'?
"Sure."
Wailing sounds of torture beyond imagining coming from the suture room
"Is that where we're going next, cause it's not filling me with confidence"Finally I go into the suture room just as the teary eye kid comes out nursing his hand. Followed by his concerned mom and dad and a nurse holding a popsicle. I've seen worse parades.
"I'm sure you'll do better than a five year old."
The doctor came up and checked out my finger. He seemed underwhelmed - oh well, after you've been into someone's chest, I assume a wound to the finger is passé.
Here's what he did:
Tried to freeze my finger three times (I always have a hard time freezing - it annoys my Dentist to no end)During all this I was looking on, fascinated, as he peeled and prodded my wound. I also asked about a billion questions.
Cut off the circulation to the finger.
Cleaned all the blood and crap out of the wound.
Gave me eight stitches
"Hey Doc, if every other shot I've ever had (including the tetanus shot I had a half an hour ago) took seconds - why do you people leave the freezing needle in for what feels like ten minutes?"That's 3.5 CC for the first shot.
"There's about ten times as much fluid in this needle, and the needle bore is smaller."
"Really? How much freeze did you just inject into my finger?"
"About 3.5 CC."
Thank heavens for the freezing, I was able to watch the stitching with a damn-that's-cool attitude, rather than being held down by several security guards while I cussed a blue streak.
Finally, the Doc put my finger into this weird cross between a gauze dispenser and a sausage tube producer. Apparently men (including me) always comment on how cool it looks, but women never do.
I went back to Casa Cyr with Mike, who had waited patiently for two and a half hours (welcome to Alberta). My nephew Billy (age six) was suitably impressed - unlike that jaded doctor.
Later, at Ggothic Towers I logged on for the first time all weekend and had to answer my email. I also got instant messaged by just about everyone, forcing me to regale them with my tales of woe over and over again, while trying to touch type without using my middle finger. Ugh.
Tall Tales I've Told About My Injury:
I stuck my hand into the lion enclosure at the Zoo.
I gave a biker the finger - he was gracious enough to only bust that, instead of the rest of me.
Knife fight.
Punching Merv after becoming completely fed up by Pointe of Screw.
My new girlfriend needs to lay off exercising her Kegels.
Had a retractable needle inserted that I can use to inject people with psychotropic chemicals.
