It’s funny thinking about how I managed to get through 39 years of life without ever needing to visit a hospital for a severe laceration. Well, that streak officially ended on Tuesday night.
It all started with a freak accident. I was trying to flush my business when the metal flush handle suddenly broke off in my hand. I’m still unsure how or why it broke. It’s not like I’m the Hulk, strong enough to shatter metal at will.
Anyway, the handle snapped mid-flush, but that didn’t stop the momentum of my hand moving straight toward the jagged piece still attached to the toilet tank. I felt a sharp pain and immediately thought, oh shit. I knew it was serious when multiple tissues couldn’t stop the bleeding.
It was a deep cut. I’d never seen my hand split open like that before. Fearing infection, I bandaged myself up and headed to the nearest hospital. Luckily, no one was ahead of me, so I didn’t have to wait. Pro tip: visit hospitals in the middle of the night to skip queues.
I registered, told the staff what happened, and they brought me into a room and laid me on a hospital bed. Throughout the night, different staff members kept asking if I was allergic to any medication, at least three times, maybe more. Each time, I told them, “No. At least none that I’m aware of.”
In the back of my mind, I was thinking: imagine if tonight’s the night we all find out I’m allergic to anesthesia (what a tricky word to spell). Fortunately, nothing dramatic happened after the injections I received.
I got a tetanus shot in the arm and an anesthesia jab to the butt. Didn’t feel a thing from the tetanus shot at the time, but my arm did get sore the following day.
The anesthesia didn’t seem to do much though, because holy hell, it hurt like shit when the doctor used copious amounts of povidone-iodine to clean the wound.
I was gritting my teeth, trying to hold back from yelling. Fuck did slip out a couple of times. I apologized to the doctors for swearing.
After that, they draped a green surgical sheet over my hand. The kind you see in doctor dramas where they operate through a tiny hole in the sheet. Except this time, it wasn’t a life-saving procedure on a vital organ. It was just my poor, pathetic index finger.
Then came another jab. This time, local anesthesia, right into the wound itself. Holy hell, that hurt too. But only for a short while. After that, I didn’t feel much of anything, and I was grateful.
Finally, it was the sewing. Three stitches. Four short of lucky. Then they cleaned up the mess, dressed my wound and I was good to go. I picked up my pills, medical certificate and left the hospital.
Thankfully, I’ve been doing alright since. It hurts much less now, but I’m dreading the day they remove the stitches. The doctor said it would be painless, but somehow I don’t believe that.
I got my finger checked again on Friday. Everything looked good. No bleeding, no infection. They replaced the bandage. Hopefully, it won’t take too long to heal. But I’m an old man, so it probably will.
Remember, kids: sometimes it’s better not to flush.
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