Wednesday, May 23, 2007

Wounded Knee

Okay so it's not really my knee it's up on my thigh. This past weekend I was working on putting a new stereo in my car. While trimming some of the plastic from the bracket I noticed my utility knife was dulling, so I changed the blade. I then sat the piece of plastic on my lap to get the blade started into it. The plastic was really dense and so I was pushing very hard and then SLIP and bang right into my thigh.

At first I thought my hand had rotated and I had just punched the very top of my thigh because it felt like an instant Charley horse. But then I noticed a perfect cut thru my jeans. While examining that -blam- blood everywhere around the cut. I thought, "Crap I nicked myself." However as I tried to stand I realized, by the burning ripping sensation in my thigh, that it was a lot worse than a nick.

I hobbled to the bathroom and examined my injury, it was a perfect stab right into my thigh. About an 1.5 inches wide and about 1.5 inches deep. So that's what my thigh muscle looks like!

I was going to super glue it shut, but with it being into the muscle I thought I better go get it stitched. So off I went to the ER. Our local hospital just re-modeled the ER and now it looks like you are entering a hotel. The lady at the desk didnt seemed concerned about my blood covered lap while she joked with the mother signing her two (non-bloody and fully functioning) little kids in. Then she called me to the desk and asked me 2 different times if I did this at work and took all my info and didnt ask me anything about the wound. I could have been shot for all she knew.

She told me that I was to go to triage and asked if I was dizzy. I think because she would wheelchair me the full 3 feet to where the triage room (closet) was. In the triage nook a nurse came in and the first question was, "Did this happen at work?" ... *sigh*. After explaning the situation she didnt look at the wound but proceeded to take my blood pressure, listen to my chest and take my temperature. I guess incase I had that rare Amazon disease that makes you stab yourself on accident.

After my triaging she led me to the room where the real medical stuff happens, or I was left to assume from her apathetic, "follow me". So on I limped, down the hall, around the corner down this hall, thru the doors and farther down the hall. I limped past at least 10 completely empty full equipped rooms - anyone of which my bloody leg could have been stitched in, but she's the nurse so I guess it's good to exercise a recently cut muscle.

The guy I thought was a doctor was really nice. Turns out he was just an assistant as the main doctor is too busy carrying his clipboard around making 10 times more money to say medical jargon like, "Hmm that looks like a nasty cut." and "Did you do this at work?" and "Okay that stitch looks good." I guess I should mention the stitching-guy also asked me twice if I did this at work. I mean I know they are all about the workman's comp shit, but for fuck sake I was asked at least 10 times by 4 different people all filling out different forms. You'd think that one of those forms would have a big check box on it for "DID NOT HAPPEN AT WORK STOP ASKING THE POOR SCHMUCK!".

So I am all stitched up now and have to go easy on my leg for about 2 weeks. Yeah right - my training for the summer Olympics continues on unabated - fuck you cut muscle. Actually I'm fine, just gotta make sure I dont rip out the stitches - free to live a life or religious fulfillment.

4 comments:

  1. I forgot to mention that the nurse didnt seemed please that I didnt put my gown on when I took my pants off. I was fully covered in my underwear and no one else was around. She thru the damn gown over me like I was on fire and she was trying to put it out.

    Fucking prudes. :P

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  2. Haha! Funny how un-advanced things seem sometimes... It's called a PEN! Ahhrgh

    Hope you heal gracefully dood. : )

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  3. I love prunes! I never have enough self-discipline to control myself from ingestion to the point of intestinal distress, however.


    Hrm...

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