Yesterday morning I went into the kitchen to get P's breakfast. He was not happy that I was not in the room with him and so was crying at the gate. I opened the fridge to get the milk and out jumped a large bottle of hot sauce. It was on a kamikaze mission. Consider the floor attacked.
Hot sauce puddle. I am of course barefoot. So I picked up the broken glass without moving my feet (why didn't I go get shoes? Who knows. I'm an idiot.) Step OVER the puddle of hot sauce, grab paper towels, turn around, and found one last piece of glass.
With my foot.
A piece of glass easily half an inch wide and 1/4" long. It was a piece of the bottom and side, so rounded. Which means easy to pull out. Let me tell you, the feel of it going into my foot was something I would like to never experience again. It made me sick to my stomach.
So now P is at screaming stage, and I'm bleeding profusely all over the place. For whatever reason I decided I needed my mother to clean it up. Panic or something, I don't know. She helped me wipe up the blood and put a bandaid on it. After which I wrapped it in guaze to keep the bandaid on.
Famous last words: "Oh, it's not that bad, you don't need to go to the hospital."
The damn thing kept bleeding all day. Sort of leaking blood. And it would not close up. I tried to stay off of it, but dude, I have a toddler. I limped on my toes (which by the way, now feel as though I've been wearing high heels just on that foot).
No way am I taking a toddler to the ER with me knowing they are going to hurt me, and I won't be able to keep an eye on him while they stitch me up. So I search for super glue. Finally find some, except it's all bloody dried up. Fail.
Plan B is going to have to be the ER. My friend Dave mentioned he was thinking of coming down for a couple hours because I'd had a horrendous night the previous day. Like the worst I've had in a while. The please let me die variety of a night. Anywho, my parents agreed to keep an ear out for P after I put him to bed, and Dave took me to the ER.
It's my left foot. I could have easily taken myself, but ummmm, I just didn't like the sound of stitches by myself. Which, it turns out, was a good call.
I had the RN, PA, and registration lady in, if you will excuse the cheesiness, stitches. They liked that the hot sauce attacked the floor. We had Jack Johnson radio playing, which the PA was grooving to while he tended to my foot.
I always wondered if stitches hurt. It turns out I didn't find out. Because he stuck a needle in my foot repeatedly with numbing stuff. That hurt like a motherfucker. Poor Dave had to deal with me squeezing his hand REALLY HARD. I was so incredibly thankful when he was done with the needles. Keep in mind I have tattoos on the top of my foot. This was worse. Left me shaking.
But oh, the numbness. Yay for numb. He came back, cleaned it up, and put in 3 stitches. None of which I felt. Woohoo!
|My first non-surgical stitches ever. And that's saying a lot|
considering how accident prone I am.
|I don't know if you can see it, but the local anesthetic turns|
your skin white, and it travels, so there were tendrils of it
going up my ankle. Soooo bizarre.
I spared you the pic of it bleeding while I waited for the stitching part.
Now, these lumpy fuckers are on the bottom of my foot. The care instructions say things like "Don't bump the stitches. They could tear open." Translation: Stay off your foot you moron. Riiiiiiight. I have a TODDLER!!!! And they did not provide crutches. I have some, but they are in storage in the old 'hood.
We are going to Musikfest Saturday. Which requires a ton of walking. Sigh. Should be interesting. Oh, and no pool. For at least 5 days. Sorry kiddo, Mama can't go in! Ideally no pool until the stitches come out. So twice that time. No flip flops. REAL SHOES. In the summer. I barely wear real shoes in the winter! *insert pity party here*
You may notice a time stamp on this post. 4 am. That's because an hour ago I woke up in excruciating pain. Like can't put any weight on my foot at all for fear of screaming pain. By some miracle, the Tylenol I took seems to be dulling it a bit. Thank goodness! Off to find crutches as soon as P gets breakfast.
Moral of the story, folks: when your hot sauce attacks the floor on a kamikaze mission, put your shoes on before cleaning up the carnage.