Stitched

This may or may not gross you out.  Read at your own risk.  (It really isn't gross though)

It was a beautiful Wednesday afternoon.  Actually, it was rainy and grey, but that isn't really part of the story.  I stood in our kitchen looking at a sink full of dishes and wondered how two people dirty so many dishes.  They needed to be cleaned.  I turned on Ellen, my favorite show to watch while cleaning house or cooking, and unloaded and loaded our mess.  The only things left were 3 kitchen knives.


Now I need to stop right there and tell you about knives in our home.  Knives are a dime a dozen around these parts. Do not meet Ben in a dark alley because he has an exorbitant amount of pocket knives that are very sharp and dangerous.  We also have a good amount of very sharp kitchen knives.  Kitchen knives that I love.  I love them so much that I like to pretend I am on Iron Chef America while I cook.  It's like there is a timer above my head and I need to cut my vegetables as fast as I can in order to get my meals cooked and plated in time.  No, but seriously I hate wasted time and I am a klutz.
So this is how it goes in our house...
Amber picks up a knife.
Ben: "Amber be very careful"
Amber: {Rolls her eyes} "Yes, thank you"
Ben: "Seriously, slow down those knives are very sharp"
Amber: "Not sharp enough, can you sharpen this?"
Ben: "No, you'll cut yourself"
Amber: "I will be VERY careful if you sharpen it."
Ben walks over and sharpens the knife.
Amber takes the knife and begins to cut, one minute passes.
Amber: "Whoops"  Grabs paper towel and wraps it around finger.

Every. Time.
Needless to say I cut myself with knives, scissors, vegetable peelers, cheese graters, anything with a sharp edge probably at least once a week. I got band aides in my stocking.  Enough said.
Back to the dishes.

There sat the 3 kitchen knives waiting to be cleaned.  We hand wash the knives for a reason that I am not really sure of.  So they don't rust, I think.  I should find out.
I chose my most favorite, very sharpest, knife first.  There I stood running a sudsy sponge over the sharp knife.  Fast, remember, I don't like to waste time.
The next thing I know the knife that I am supposed to be cleaning is cutting through my sponge and finger!
"Ouch!!", I yell {To Oliver cause he was the only one home} "That REALLY hurt!"
Normally it doesn't hurt, honestly it's usually a nick or small cut.
I grab a paper towel, wrap it around my finger and continue washing knives.

After drying the knives I remove my, now wet, paper towel to asses the damage.  Too much blood.  I grab a dry paper towel, wrap my finger and take Oliver on a walk.

Ben was home by the time we walked back.  He took one look at my blood soaked paper towel and said, "Did you cut yourself again?" "It's no big deal," I reply as he wrapped it up in the Christmas bandaids so I could start dinner.

After dinner I decided to really asses the damage.  It had finally stopped bleeding enough to see the cut well.  I took one look and asked Ben if he thought it was stitch worthy.  Assuming of course that he would say no and just wrap it real good.  He said the opposite.  Rather he went on about how it was really deep and might have a hard time healing there.  I took a picture (naturally) and sent it to my most knowledgeable friends.  Michelle (nurse) and Matt (paramedic/fire fighter) hoping one of them would be off work and able to share their expertise.  Almost immediately they both responded telling me to stitch that baby up.

Suddenly I realized they might all be right.  I mean I could see the little fat cells stored in these sausage fingers when I looked inside.  Gross.

I looked at Ben, "WHAT do we do???"  I had never ever in my life needed late night hospital care, let alone stitches!  We looked up the nearest Urgent Care, they closed at 8pm, it was 7:43.  We jumped in the car, threw Oliver in the back, and raced to Urgent Care.  We were there at 7:57.  Record time.

Faster than I knew possible, they had me soaking my finger, filling out papers and asking me when my last tetanus shot was.  I soaked, signed and looked at the lady like she was crazy.  "College, maybe?"  She decided I needed a tetanus right away.

The doctor explained that he would put 3 shots in my finger to dumb the area.  I quickly learned that shots in your finger hurt WAY worse than cutting your finger with a kitchen knife.  But the nurse distracted me with more questions while Ben did his best to crack jokes and make small talk.

My finger quickly turned numb and cold.  I swear it was more swollen and purple than I had ever seen it and I wondered if this strange reaction was really better than a band aide?

Finally, it was time to stitch.  Ben held my hand and my attention while the doctor took a crazy hook and plastic thread through my finger.  I felt a few tugs, but no pain.  Before I knew it - he was done!  I looked over and saw...

Holy mama swollen finger!! {my mom literally thought this picture was of Ben's hand}
I was surprised when I looked at it.  I was surprised that my finger was so swollen, I was surprised the stitches were black and I was surprised that they were tied individually.  May I remind you that I have never had stitches before, nor do I think I have ever seen stitches on anyone else.  I guess I thought I would look over and see clear thread and a beautiful seam along the cut flesh.  But what do I know.  He wrapped and splinted my swollen pointer and told me I would soon be good as new.

Before we left the awesome nurses brought in a sticker that made my day!  Remember that tetanus shot?  Well that baby STILL hurts! 4 days later.  A ladybug sticker was well deserved!

We walked out at 8:38.  I appreciated the "no wasted time" service.  I had to wear the splint for 24 hours.  Typing was very hard and using a pen has been almost impossible, but there hasn't been much pain and I am healing beautifully.  We are uncertain when I am actually supposed to go back to have them removed.  I remember the doctor saying 7 days.  Ben remembers 4 days.  I decided to settle the score and take them out myself!

I didn't know I was serious until I was inspecting them tonight and decided the far left stitch didn't have any pain when I moved it so it may be time to come out.  I sniped and pulled and before I even knew what was happening the stitch was out laying on the desk next to my finger.

One down, two to go!

The moral of the story:  Have your very sweet, thorough and careful husband wash the knives!