ER

This post should have been about the art project I started last night.  Instead, it's about stitches. I went to the ER last night.  I was cutting wine corks in half for the aforementioned art project and the knife and I did not work well together.  I wasn't able to slice the last cork I was working on in half, but I was able to slice open my finger pretty nicely!  Man, did that hurt.  Blood and tears and fear came next.  -Fear about what they would have to do to me in the ER.  I'd never had stitches before and I didn't feel sad about that at all.  Stitches sounded painful.  I must have asked Josh 10 times at home, on the walk down to the car, in the car, after parking at the hospital: "Are you sure we can't just take care of it at home?".  He kindly indulged me by gently removing the blood soaked rag I was holding onto my wound, and looking at it every time before responding, "Yeah, babe.  I'm afraid it's beyond a band-aid."  When the nurse looked at it, he said there were "finger guts" hanging out.  Uch.  They were all very kind to me at Swedish in Ballard.  Josh was my hero, stroking my hair and kissing my forehead while I was unhappily being treated. The doctor stitched it up so I look like I have a finger shaped baseball on my hand, then the nurse bound the finger in so much gauze protection, I feel like I'm wearing a prosthetic digit. (Makes it tough to type, too.)

It's a wonder I'm not  regular at the ER.  I am incredibly accident-prone and terribly reckless with myself.  Going 33 years without a stitch or broken bone is pretty astounding for such an individual, I think.  Bruises, minor cuts, scrapes, minor burns...those are more my style.  I'd like to keep it that way.  I'm not interested in returning anytime soon.

Oh, and I did finally get my hair cut today.  It wasn't so bad.