The local anesthetic is wearing off...
If you're into the Facebook at all and you know my mate, Pieter, then you've probably already heard I went to emerg last night for a nasty injury.
The following is a rather detailed account of my injury, so I'll cut it to save those who get squicked. I will post pictures separately and also under a cut. You are warned.
I stumbled out of bed a little past 1 am. I barely registered the clock. I didn't have any clothes on except my socks and my jewelry.
I whumped my way down the stairs, gingerly as I usually do because I have a bad left ankle. Right foot first, then left, one stair at a time. I made it past the landing and let my left hand rest on the little ledge there and then my rings betrayed me, catching on the nail as I whumped one step too far and then I felt it.
Excruciating agony and the knowledge that something was not well on my hand.
I made it to the bottom of the stairs and I stood there, nude and a bladder full, peering at my injury. Looking usually makes trauma injuries worse and it totally did for me. I clasped my hand and wailed and wobbled to the little toilet stall we have in the sub-level of the house. I had to pee before I could deal with my finger. There wasn't anything else I could do.
I finished quickly and barely remember weeping my way back upstairs, clutching my fingers.
I wasn't bleeding much, but the skin was in the wrong place.
I rinsed my finger in cold water when I made it to the kitchen and then wrapped it in a paper towel.
I sat on my bed and blinked back tears to look and see if I could deal with it on my own. To me, my finger resembled a peeled grape and I recall panicking and declaring aloud, to myself, "I can't do this alone. I can't do this alone." I kept repeating myself and I was in a bit of shock at that point. I could do nothing except protect my hand and whimper and cry.
I had to get a hold of myself and put on something before I made it upstairs to beg for help. I fumbled with my robe and stumbled off toward the master bedroom. I was worried about upsetting the girls with my tears, but I couldn't stop sobbing as I made my way up and opened the door.
Pieter told me later he'd recently been to the washroom and Erin was sort of awake, as well. Both popped out of bed and came to my side immediately and were kind to me as I tried to explain what had happened.
Erin found me some clothes and helped me dress.
Piet drove me to St. Joe's here in Hamilton. Right to the emerg doors where he left the car and took me in before he went to park it.
I sat, like a good little injury, in the chairs of the waiting room for the triage nurse to call my number. I sobbed and people stared. I barely registered them and hardly took in details of the nurse, either.
"Now serving #1. Please report to room....2" I got up and then sat down again about 6 feet away. The nurse was calm and extremely "seen-it-all" about everything. I'm sure she's dealt with far worse, repeatedly.
She took my info, health card, vitals. She cleaned out the wound to get a look at it. I managed to get tears on the desk.
I was gauzed up and packed off to the other waiting room.
Again, I had a difficult time registering my surroundings. I was still breathing fast and trying to cope with my pain levels which I would rate at about an 8-9 on a 1-10 scale. Pieter was consistently comforting me and got me some tissues. There was a suicidal girl who had a kind lad with her and a crappy mother back at home. I heard her lament about failing all her classes. There was an officer there who spoke very gently to her and, of course, there was no comforting her.
I was put in a large room where they had a cart featuring "vag" stuff. I couldn't help but giggle. There was a clock and a ton of medical supplies on the shelves.
Another nurse took my vitals and repeated the same questions I got from the triage nurse. "Are you allergic to anything?" etc. She was cute.
The doc was nice. I didn't even catch his name. He said he moves around a lot, from hospital to hospital in the region. He couldn't find things he needed because of it, but he managed. I appreciated his humanity and his bedside manner. I didn't feel like some THING he had to fix. I felt like a person with an injury. I really appreciated it.
He applied local anesthetic. The needle hurt and the damn stuff didn't take on the topside of my finger. The pressure from the rings was too much.
He cut off my rings. Once they were off, the numbing made its way all through my finger and my pinky, too.
He cleaned the wound and stitched the skin back down. I have three stitches!
Another nurse gave me a tetanus booster. She also wrapped my finger up in some crazy stuff and gave me a dose of Keflex. I have a 'scrip for the rest. Due to my status as a diabetic, they decided it would be for the best to avoid infection.
It's been almost 12 hours since everything happened. It's been about 9 hours since the local anesthetic was injected.
The feeling is coming back. I'll keep taking Tylenol, but it doesn't seem to touch this at all. >:(
Pictures in another entry.