(Warning: graphic pictures below.)
I kind of had a bad reaction to headache pills yesterday and got into an extremely intoxicated state where my mind worked fine but my body didn’t. I couldn’t walk four feet without falling. I probably should have sought medical attention right then and there, but I was alone and in no fit state to drive, and it didn’t occur to me that it might be a “911” type situation. (It was.) By means of clinging to the rail and sliding down the steps on my butt, I managed to get downstairs without killing myself and then tried to get a glass of orange juice, but broke the glass and cut myself on the hand in the worst possible place: on the webbing, between the thumb and forefinger. This was the result:
While still lacking any coordination at all, I tried to clean things up. I couldn’t find any paper towels (thanks Mom, for going away on vacation for ten days and not telling your house-sitter where the paper towels were) and tried to use toilet paper, without much success. The result being that I bled all over the kitchen and all over myself. These, for example, are my pajama pants:
I finally gave up and went back to bed. Later, the guy doing remodeling on Mom’s house came over, and woke me to ask why the kitchen looked like a crime scene. I told him and he bound up my hand with gauze and tape from his first-aid kit, doing a fine job. I went back to bed again and slept for a day or more.
I woke up in the afternoon the next day (today), feeling rather better, and decided to take a shower, which meant unwrapping the bandage. That’s when I realized just how bad the cut was. I drove to the urgent care clinic but they refused to assist me. They got the idea that I had tried to commit suicide and forced me to go to the hospital emergency room, where I went through loads of unnecessary medical procedures and also a suicide assessment because they too wouldn’t believe this had all been an accident or series of accidents.
Four hours after I arrived in ER, someone finally cleaned and sutured my hand, but because of where the cut is they couldn’t do much for it. This is the result:
Not a great improvement, as you can see. It hurts like a bee-yotch. Thank goodness it was my left hand, not my right one, and they did prescribe antibiotics, but I wonder if my hand will ever be the same again. I can’t even hold my stupid purse with that hand now.
And I still have to clean up the kitchen.