A few weeks ago I had promised my father-in-law I would make him some bread and butter pickles. I finally was going to have time a couple of weekends, so on Saturday morning, I was slicing cucumbers with my slicer.
I got a call that I was going to have to come into work for a little bit so I was rushing around trying to get the last 6 cucumbers sliced up so I could go ahead and start soaking them in salt water before I had to leave.
I sliced my pinkie finger. Sliced it clean off!
Well, I thought I had. I immediately held a crushing amount of pressure on it and ran cold water over it.
But a funny thing happened.
Every time I would release the pressure, my finger would still bleed. And bleed. And bleed.
I had to go to work! I had pickles to make! I don’t have time for this!
My mother-in-law decide that we can bandage it up enough to get the bleeding to stop so I can go into work. Unfortunately, we had to use so much gauze to hold enough pressure to get the bleeding to stop that my pinkie went numb. Which? Was better than the aching it was feeling so I called it a win and hauled ass into work.
Please check and respect the blue camo lead apron.
It’s not mine; I had to borrow it. But still. It’s pretty bad ass.
After I left work, I went and checked on my dad and father-in-law who were running the electric line from the pole into our house. I gave my father-in-law grief about how bad my finger hurt and it was all his fault because he wanted pickles. Of course he felt bad which made me laugh and I reassured him that I was fine.
Except I knew that I really should have gone to get stitches.
I continued to ignore the pain in my finger that was slowing spreading into my hand and, by the end of the night, was shooting down into my elbow.
I took some Tylenol (no Advil for those of us that are knocked up!) and iced it. The ice helped tremendously so I went to bed thinking that I would feel so much better come Sunday morning.
Except I didn’t quite make it to Sunday morning.
It was 11:30 on Saturday night when I jumped out of bed and asked Greg to take me to the ER. I needed stitches and I knew that I couldn’t bear the pain that was taking over my entire arm any longer.
We arrived in the not-too-crowded ER which was shocking and I got checked right in.
When they pulled me into the triage room, the ER nurse asked me to take my bandage off. I nearly peed my pants because it hurt so bad but I managed. Guess what?! I was still bleeding! Dudes? That was a full 15 hours later. She told me that my arm hurt because my bandage was too tight and I just stared at her slack-jawed. I wrapped my finger so damn tight because I couldn’t get the bleeding to stop. Whateves. She gave me more gauze, which I promptly bled through so I continued to hold an unbearable amount of pressure on my finger to keep from losing more blood.
Finally, they called me back into a room, the PA came in, took a look at my finger, told me I was an idiot for waiting so long (I mean, he’s got a point.) and stitched me up!
You know what’s weird? I KNOW that it was my right pinkie but in this picture, it totally looks like my left index.
Camera tricks, I suppose.
And that’s the story about the first time I ever got stitches that weren’t in my vagina.