Wednesday, January 30, 2013

Can't Be Left Alone

Mrs Elliott's out of town for a couple days.

I'm glad it won't be for longer than that because I am managing to injure myself daily.

First, I was knocking about the kitchen yesterday evening and managed to slice the index finger on my left hand nearly to the bone at the third knuckle while I was "knuckleheadedly" using a paring knife -- a very sharp paring knife -- to remove the foil from a bottle of wine.

As I paused to look at the slash and determine my course of action, Mrs Elliott called to discuss an issue regarding a new window we are having put in for her office.

So thar I was, phone pressed up to my right ear, left hand up above my head to minimize the bleeding, wandering about the house seeking medical supplies.

The cut was clearly too deep to be closed with Band Aids, but that's all I had at hand. There was nothing for it but to wrap the injured area as well as I could with a half-dozen or so Band Aids until we finished talking.

Once the conversation was over, I surveyed the heap of bandage wrappers and wads of blood-soaked cotton, and three things were clear: 1. Bandages alone were not going to keep this wound closed through the night (the location on my hand isn't easy to dress), 2. I either needed sutures or butterfly closures to keep the thing closed, and 3. I had a great big mess to clean up.

Two or three sutures aren't reason enough to drive to St. Charles, so I hunted around the house for the More Serious First-Aid Kit, found it, painted the skin around the wound with tincture of benzoin (which makes your skin super-grippy for bandages), applied some triple antibiotic to the owie, closed it with two butterfly closures, then covered the area with a couple of fabric Band Aids.

I spent the rest of the evening babying the owie -- it was (and is still) extremely painful and sensitive: it woke me up at least a dozen times last night, either out of simple aching, or whenever I rolled over in bed or moved my hand around and the finger caught on a blanket or sheet. Today I've adjusting to not using my left index finger for anything requiring strength 'cause it hurts like a sumbitch.

Anyway, the dressing remained in place, and has so all day long today. I dressed it well.

(Two people today asked my why I didn't use Super Glue to close the wound, and I totally would have except I didn't think of it and the First Aid kit didn't have any. While I was at Ace Hardware today I picked up a bottle for the kit. The stuff rocks for closing wounds.)

That would be enough for self-injury except that today when I was helping an employee move a cubicle divider (I was the one who was backing up) when my foot banged into a heavy carton that had been left in the middle of the room and I fell down backwards.

I could have laid there for a moment, gathering my wits and assessing possible damage but the calf of my right leg decided that it was the PERFECT moment to cramp up. I leapt to my feet to ease the cramp.

Thanks, leg.

While the lads said I did a very "graceful" fall (one said he'd give me a "9" for that one), I knew immediately that I had landed directly, and with great force, on my right shoulder. My weak shoulder, my tender shoulder.

I broke that shoulder many many years ago in the same damn auto accident that broke my legs, which has since required a knee replacement and a fused ankle, and while the shoulder has not given me much trouble other than the occasional achiness in these recent years, it's really aching now.

Ow ow ow.

So, to summarize:

100% of the days that Mrs Elliott has been away, I have managed to:

On day 1: Cut finger nearly to bone. Paste it back together with items found around the house.
On day 2: Bang the crap out of my old shoulder injury.

Only an idiot could miss the implications. That is why I am vowing that on day 3 (that's tomorrow), I'm staying in bed.

Miss Johnson -- cancel all my appointments. And mix me a drink.

1 comment:

  1. I simply couldn't believe all the mishaps ... take good care of that finger, and that shoulder!

    ReplyDelete

 
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