I typed this post with one hand

A little after 6:00 this morning, I kissed my sweetie goodbye and quizzed my eldest about his breakfast preference.  He went to the shower, I went to boiling water and chopping apples for his oatmeal.  I used my crazy-sharp Pampered Chef Apple Wedger to make the job faster.  After "wedging" my apple, I put the tool down on the counter, but left it too close to the edge; It started to fall and I instinctively reached to grab it.

Stupid.  Stupid. Stupid.

I ran to the sink to assess the damage.  I had filleted my pinkie.  Deeply.  Bits of fatty tissue were trying to curl out of the clean cut.  I called Chris, who was still on his way to work, and he came home.  We talked and decided that the ER was an hour away, or I could wait an hour and see the doctor in town when they opened.  We waited and I pinched the skin together until both hands were numb.  Chris went to the store and bought butterfly bandages and Hello Kitty Bandaids.

They made me smile.  Eventually, with the butterfly bandages help, I was able to let go of the wound without it gushing.  After a while longer it even seemed to stop and dry up a bit.  Chris stayed home with the kids while I headed off to the doctor (the only one who takes my insurance) wondering if I could get away with no stitches.

My doctor wasn't in.

I went to a walk-in clinic and discovered that it would cost me $200 to stitch it up.  I was then quite convinced that it wouldn't need stitches.  I called Chris and he was not happy to hear me consider not stitching it.  I asked a nurse for her opinion and she said I could probably get away with bandages.  Chris barely accepted this 2nd opinion ( he was not happy) and I headed home.  Relieved.

As I turned the car onto my street....I forgot and used my left hand on the steering wheel and busted the cut wide open.

Chris packed the kids in the car and drove me back to the doctor.  I tried reading to calm myself down, but I was in the middle of Upton Sinclair's novel, The Jungle.  There wasn't much calming to be found in his descriptions of slaughterhouses...entrails, slick with blood, draining away in a river of death....not calming.

I was seen by a very nice nurse practitioner who told me that she was going to insert a needle in the base of my finger, as close to the nerve as possible and numb it before stitching. "The numbing shot is the worst part."  She was the third person to tell me this.  I was worried.  I asked if there was any risk of complications such as nerve damage (I've had too much trouble with this already.)  She shrugged and told me there are risks to everything.

I asked if she had done this very much and she said (I'm not kidding): "Meh.  I've done a few."

She was wonderful, however, so I think she might have been messing with me.

She inserted the needle and I barely felt a thing.  Whew! We went to rinse out the cut though and I could still feel everything.  So she gave me another shot.  She gave me several shots in the cut and these stung like fire.  She gave me several more shots in the base of the finger.  These also stung.  After about 8 jabs and lots of fire, I now agree:  "The numbing shot is the worst part."

After that it was a breeze.  I lost feeling in my entire left hand and was able to just watch with fascination as she attempted to sew through a puddle of blood.  I kicked myself and blurted out, "I left my camera in the car!"  Sorry, guys; no pictures.

And now, 5 hours later, I'm thinking the wedger did not make my morning oatmeal go "faster"

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