Tuesday, September 8, 2009

POP! SPLOP! KERPLOP!

The evidence...



So, yesterday was a day from...well, I won't say it, but you get my drift... *cough*

I have a routine. And I try to stick to it for sanity's sake. My morning routine is to make sure the house is all tidy, and as a direct result, my brain and spirit are tidy. Yesterday, Jeremy was home for the holiday, and when he is home I try desperately to stick to my routine! It hasn't always been easy. It is easier to lay in bed next to him and enjoy the fact that I am not the only person over 5 feet tall in the house. But, as it was, we had to get out of bed at some point, and make sure the house was in order before we ran around doing fun stuff.

Bed made? CHECK!

Kids' Beds made? CHECK!

Kids dressed? CHECK!


House clean? Almost check...dishes to do...


So, I steered Jeremy towards the closet so he would get the hint that pajamas weren't appropriate outside of the house, and I dug into our pile of dishes...no problem...By the time Jeremy was ready, I had a few dishes on the rinse side, and he was quickly putting them out to dry...all except a tall glass...that darn, stupid glass...


The top of the glass was a little difficult to squeeze my hand into, and I had failed to completely wash the inside (This happens a lot, and I look forward to the day when I have a dishwasher.). I sighed, Jeremy smiled, and I plunged my hand into the cup and started to scrub. All of the sudden, POP! Broken glass, blood, and one freaked out husband running around the kitchen trying to figure out what to do. I stood there calmly looking at my hand while it bled, and Jeremy was frantically trying to assist.
"WHAT DO YOU NEED??????"
"Um, let's see...some water..." so I turned on the faucet and put my hand under it.

He then grabbed a dish cloth (A new one...oh well. They were cheap. Burlington coat factory sells them by sixes for $4.99!) and wrapped it around my hand and said very sternly that I needed to put pressure on it.
I stared at him blankly.

"Okay."


After making phone calls so people could watch our children (THANK YOU, BEN! YOU ARE A LIFESAVER! An honorable mention goes to Tara, who stood in our kitchen for 15 seconds while we gathered ourselves together before Ben zoomed into the parking lot.), he began running around in circles with the phone book to find numbers of doctors and clinics that were open. I didn't want to go to the hospital...been there, done that, got charged a HUGE amount of money for flu symptoms, an antibiotic and a two-hour sit in the emergency room....Jeremy's mom told us about InstaCare, so Jeremy called them up and when Ben arrived (and deftly saran wrapped my hand) we rushed out the door.
As we raced down the street, I was getting nervous...


"Uh, Jeremy? Could you slow down? I don't want to have to get more stitches..."
"WHAT??! OH, SORRY. I AM JUST A LITTLE TENSE..."
"It's okay, I just want to make there...alive..."


By this point I was starting to get giddy. This happens every time I have a major injury. Everything gets really, really funny.


We drove into InstaCare's parking lot, and Jeremy attempted to toss me out the door so I could "get in line." I gave him a look, and then he parked, and we quietly walked inside. Get in line...sheesh...heheheh...


It was pretty empty, but then again, it was 9:45 in the morning. Still plenty of time for people to hurt themselves on that bright and glorious holiday (and by the time we left, some other poor soul was being led back to where we had come from with a very bloody hand. Must be catching.).

We were told to fill out some paper work.
"Don't worry, Dara!" Jeremy said heroically. "I will do it!"

"Um, yeah...hehehehe..."

He then proceeded to forget my birthday and write it down wrong twice, then started to panic that he didn't have my social security number memorized (even though we didn't need it), and seemed to be struggling to focus.

"Duuuude, relllaaaaaaxxxx, ha ha ha!"

"Hey, I bet if you went into labor they could deliver you while they sew up your hand!" He laughed.

"HAHAHAHAHAH!"

After going through all the technicalities, I was commanded at the bottom of the paper to sign.
"Um, yeah, that's not gonna happen...HAHAHA! You can sign it for me, Jeremy. But make sure it is pretty...HA HA HA HA HA!"

He then screwed up his face and attempted to sign my name. It looked awful.
"HAHAHAHAHA!"

At that point, we were called to the front desk.

"He signed for me...hahahah!"
The receptionist wasn't amused.
"Ha ha. He can't do that."
Jeremy and I looked sheepishly at each other.


I signed with my left hand and, after filling out my family's medical history (WHOA! I never realized how many problems we had until I noticed how many of those boxes I had to check!), they led me back to the examination room.


We chit-chatted with the medical assistant, and then waited for the doctor to come in. I suddenly got really, really paranoid about my breath. I pounced on my purse and found my tic-tacs..ah..okay, now I won't offend him...hahahaha!
The doctor came in and seriously, it was like he has just been transported off of Vulcan. A true-blue, cynically cold but maniacal Vulcan.


"That's illogical," He stated.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing, sorry..."


He then explained to me that I could either wait for the numbing gel to kick in (in a half an hour) or I could endure 10 seconds of burning from the local anaesthetic. He sorta grinned as he mentioned the latter option.

"Um, give me 10 seconds of burning, please. Ha ha ha!"

"Okay...hold still..."

"OW!"

He just giggled and poked me again.
"OWW!"

It all went numb at that point...ahhh...


He then pulled out some long, metal object and said, licking his lips,


"I need to check for glass...it makes a nice noise against the metal...hehehe..."


He began digging and I was really REALLY glad I couldn't feel anything, and I tried not to look just in case my imagination filled in the pain that was missing. Lucky for me, I have a big ol' belly and it blocked my view of what he was doing. I could feel liquid dribbling down my hand, and every once in a while the doctor would mop something up. I don't think it was koolaid.


Jeremy's face this whole time was locked in complete morbid disgust and fascination.
"STOP THAT!" I squealed. "You are making me nervous!"


The doctor began sewing me up, and explained that I had come really close to cutting my tendon. I was really lucky, he said.

Thank heaven for small favors. I started to get queasy at this point. It wasn't as funny as it was before. And it didn't help that Dr. Demento and Jeremy were talking about how nifty the sewing needles were, and how they resembled fish hooks, and MAN they can go through ANYTHING.


At last, he was done, and I got a look at my hand. Ew. I looked like a miniature horror flick. Or a badly stitched football. Either way...
The victim...


We wobbled out of the office, and passed by the front desk. It was obvious the receptionist still wasn't amused by our antics, because when I asked her if we were all done, she said, "I don't know. ARE you?" I must have looked hurt because she faintly smiled and said, "Yes, you are done." Sheesh... SOMEBODY woke up on the wrong side of the bed...


The rest of the day was pretty uneventful. We went to the mall with Ben and Emily, and I was feeling pretty good about the whole thing. I mean, WOW! My hand didn't hurt AT ALL! Life was good...until the local wore off. Then it was "What the...AAARRRGGGG!!!!"


It was like death was taking a vacation on my hand.


I was consoled by the knowledge we had a free dinner coming at Sizzler (Although, that free dinner offered by Tara was pretty tempting! Thank you! I will have to feign sickness one of these days just so I can get that meal...).

We had a nice time at dinner (except Joshua had long reached his expiration date and had completely lost self-control. It was like trying to manage a pile of warm Jello.) Eva was enjoying herself, however, and was tasting everything, and seemed to have a real good time. We ran out of Sizzler so we could make it to Emily's birthday party, and about half way down the road, Eva started to scream...and Scream...and SCREAM. Jeremy tried to figure out what was wrong, and she kept pointing at her tummy. He decided that perhaps her pants were too tight, and loosened them, and the result was, as we drove into Mom and Dad's subdivision, a pink and orange extremely moist projectile from my tiny daughter. SPLOP! All over the car. And it smelled. BAD. And she did it TWICE. And she didn't stop screaming.


And the screaming was only augmented because she was suddenly terrified of everyone. I pulled her downstairs to the basement tub, and Ben, being the helpful sort, was trying to help me because I was one-handed. Jeremy was attempting to hose down the car seat outside at my request and I had gone in alone.

Ben filled the tub, and then tried to help Eva, who was screaming and trying to spread the joy of her explosion all over my pants by grabbing onto me with her soiled hands. I don't blame her. I mean, if I had thrown up and was dragged down two flights of stairs, and my uncle started to pull off my pants, I would be screaming too. Jeremy came to our rescue and I went upstairs to deal with the mess in the car.

After that was all taken care of, and Eva had mellowed out, we all sang happy birthday to Emily, had cake (YUMMY), and relaxed for a few moments. I was pretty shell-shocked at that point. The reality of the day was closing in on me, and suddenly everything wasn't funny anymore, and I wanted to cry.

We took the kids home, threw them in bed, and Jeremy and I landed *kerplop* on our bed. I didn't want to move. Jeremy offered to sponge bath my make-up off, but I decided that would be too messy, and we got ourselves ready for bed.

As I lay there in the dark and closed my eyes, I kept reliving my injury in extreme detail. It was awful. I snuggled up to Jeremy, and that helped ease my mind. Jeremy prayed for my hand, and I did the same, and I fell asleep...REBOOT!

This morning was a bright new day. Thank heaven!

This afternoon, after viewing my stitched up hand, with a slightly crazy-eyed, toothy grin, Tara offered to remove my stitches...I think there is something wrong with those in the medical profession... :)

9 comments:

Trillium said...

Hey! Now that I think of it, I think I remember having removed some of your previous stitches! It's quite easy--unless the Vulcan Doc put knots in the wrong place ... yikes! haha

Katscratchme said...

I was pretty convinced through part of the day that you were trying to steal my birthday thunder. Drama drama drama... :P

shydandelion said...

Yeah...I cut my hand on purpose and put my finger down Eva's throat! You caught me!

Rebecca said...

well, eating lunch while reading your blog was probably the wrong move.

At one point I got a little quezy (which I do often when blood is involved; or stitches; or anything that has to do with bodily maming)... Victor has to take of our bloodied children when they are injured... :)

Funny and sad!

I hope your hand feels better and Eva's tummy feels better.

Les said...

Oh Dara, you really know how to tell a story. I can totally imagine the whole thing and it makes me giggle. I hope you hand is feeling better and Eva as well.

Amy said...

Holy Cow. That looks PAINFUL. Good goin'.

:)

shydandelion said...

Just call me "Grace"! :)

Tina said...

Yikes! What a day. I can't believe that happened. Just be grateful that Jeremy had the day off and you didn't have to do all of that on your own. I hope the rest of your week went better.

Tara said...

I'm sorry your day was so rotten. And it's traumatic to have an injury like that!! I'm also sorry that my slightly crazy-eyed, toothy grin shone through - I was trying VERY hard to hide it (;

Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...