Sorry, it goes on a bit, feel free to ignore it.
Recently I was doing householdly chores of a washing up variety while my dear husband went and foraged for food at the local fish and chip van which comes this way a couple of times a week (I would like to point out that we rarely use the thing but we couldn’t be bothered to go to the supermarket and had little other food).
Anyway, third glass into the washing up I became aware that the glass had broken, I then became aware that I was cut, quite a lot. I pulled my hand out of the glass and the water and ran around the kitchen a bit. Then I told myself not to panic and grabbed a clean tea towel by virtue of liking the one that was in use rather than because it wasn’t clean (I wasn’t thinking too clearly). I tried phoning Dave who was by now on his way back to tell him to be quick but he didn’t hear it. When he came into sight I opened the door and told him to hurry – not because I was impatient for food as he first thought – but because I was bleeding quite a lot. At this stage I should mention that it was a cut on the back of my hand, where my thumb joins the rest of it, so I wasn’t in a huge amount of danger. Without further ado we found me some shoes and jumped into the car to go to the hospital. It was on the journey that the pain kicked in, with a vengance. He dropped me at the door of the A and E and went to park the car.
I went into the hospital and found the first hurdle was signing in, but the nice lady behind the desk did that for me, reassuring me that a nurse would see me soon. Husband arrived soon after and we waited a short time for the nurse to call me into a side cubicle. She looked at it, put some strips on it and a big bandage around the whole hand and asked me if I had taken any painkillers. I said I hadn’t and she promised to get some for me soon, in the mean time I was to return to the waiting room and wait (makes sense really). She also opened the bin for me to dispose of my rather bloody tea towel.
After a while of feeling really very uncomfortable my name was finally called to get the painkillers, which I gratefully took. Once these started kicking in I began looking at the people around me. Some people had very obvious reasons for being there, others less so. There was one family who I still can’t work out what they were doing, but it looked like a family outing. They had a bag of food from M&S and a lot of the small childs stuff, including a sleeping bag type thing. They would both take it in turns to go and play with the child or carry him around. I suppose it must have been something wrong with the child, now I’ll never know.
Eventually I was called through by a nurse and was pointed at some seats to sit in. I had left my husband behind at this point, foolishly believing I was being called through to see a doctor. I sat and waited, and waited, and waited. In the mean time nurses came through with lots of other people from the waiting room and took them through. I caught someones attention after a long time and asked whether I was going to be seen – if I wasn’t I was going to go and get my husband to keep me company. I was told I would be seen next, but of course if I wanted to go and find him I could. I decided not to – after all how long could ‘next’ be?
Quite a long time as it turns out. Anyway I went through to the doctor and he checked it was still working (which it was) and then he pressed down on the cut, then I screamed (quietly) and he decided I should go for an x-ray. He gave me the form and I decided to collect husband before going along as I wanted some company. The x-ray happened quite quickly and I got back to see the doctor quite quickly. He reassured me there wasn’t any glass in the cut and then debated what to do. As it’s on the bend of the thumb they should put stitches in, I reluctantly said ‘if you have to then I’ll try not to be a wimp’ he pondered some more and marvelled at how well the steri-strips were holding it together. He called a nurse in who also pondered it and between them they decided that steri-stips were the way to go. Unfortately it needed washing – properly – so the nurse did that, really properly, it hurt a lot until it stopped hurting cos it was hurting so much. Anyway she put the strips on, bandaged up my thumb very neatly and I was free to go home. I was not to get my thumb wet at all for the next week. Also I shouldn’t bend my thumb otherwise the strips would come lose and ugh.
Anyway, this week has been full of my left hand realising how hard my right hand works and doing a poor imitation. Strangely writing on the board with the pen between my fingers wasn’t too bad. The marking was a disgrace, but I’m so behind anyway I had no choice except to persist until it got too painful.
I will be very glad to be told that I can start using my thumb again, but surely it should hurt less by now, not more?