My Magical Journey to the Emergency Room

This past Friday, it took me 6 hours to make Tuna salad. Yes this is important, and you should absolutely continue reading. It took me 6 hours to make tuna salad because I had to make an unexpected stop at the emergency room. This post will be about that story:

For all of my blog followers that found my blog after last Easter (all of you), you will be surprised to know that my parents cursed me with the condition of Catholicism. Some of the symptoms of Catholicism include constant guilt, having to agree with the Pope, and having to punish ourselves for 40 days. The more important Catholic rule (for this post at least) is that Catholic’s aren’t allowed to eat meat or chicken on Fridays during Lent. That brings me to the tuna salad.

On Friday at 8:00 PM I was making tuna salad. It was just a normal Friday night; I had to work that night, so I wanted a meal that would be Pope approved for my next two meals. I cut the onion without a problem, and pulled out the green pepper to find that only a third was left. I was using 2 cans of tuna, so a measly third of green pepper was not going to cut it for me. I found an orange pepper in my refridgerator. It was kind of soft and wrinkly, but I decided that it was fresh enough for my undignified tastes.

A chicken bone AND a half of a banana? Looks like somebody's having a feast tonight!

So there I was, slicing up the orange peppers, then dumping the bits into the Tupperware, when a stray piece of pepper fell onto the floor. That son of a bitch. I ever so intelligently balanced the knife I was cutting with (the one that was sharpened the previous weekend, I may add) on the top of the Tupperware. I didn’t put it on the cutting board because I live vicariously. Well, you would be surprised to know that gravity is a crafty she-devil and she let the knife fall to the floor.

Now, a couple of things happened in quick succession, and I’m not sure what order they occurred in. I know the knife fell first, but I’m not sure if I thought to myself, “Minigan, do NOT try to catch that knife!” before or after my catch it reflex kicked in and I attempted to catch the knife.  I then remember realizing what stupid thing I just did and pulled my hand back. Blood spattered everywhere. There were blood spots at least 4 feet away from where I was standing and even as high as the cutting board I was using. Simply put, I was in some shit.

I immedietly put my hand under water to rise off the cut, but it was bleeding so bad that It didn’t really matter. With my nonbloody hand, I grabbed some paper towels and stuffed them over the wound, which was in between my index and middle fingers on my left hand. I was feeling a little dizzy at this point, but I figured that was just me panicking, so I grabbed a mop and began to clean up the blood on the floor. Let me repeat that: I was dizzy, but I didn’t call anybody to have them take me to the hospital, but instead felt like that I should clean up the mess I made. Yes, I am that oddly considerate.

But it was a lot of blood, so I'd have to be a selfish bastard not to clean up after myself.

I got about halfway through mopping up the floor before I became pretty sure that I was going to pass out, so I went to sit on the couch. I decided that then would to be a perfect time for me to call my mom and have her take me to the hospital. I got a hold of her at work and told her what was going on, I relaxed for a minute and let myself calmed down. That helped for some reason, and I was able to finish mopping.

At 9:00, she got to the house, and she rushed in, calling for me to make sure I was OK. I was. She drove me to the Emergency room while I laughed and talked brightly, because me getting cut and panicking to the point of nearly fainting apparently put me in a good mood. We got to the Hospital and into the emergency room where I was asked for some preliminary information at the front desk. We were then sent to a second desk where I was to finish signing in. There, a male nurse in his late twenties asked for my name, and grabbed the freshly printed hospital bracelet.

He then asked, “So, what’s going on tonight.”

I didn’t know why he wanted to know what I would be doing after this, but I decided that I should be truthful and replied, “Well, I have to work tonight.”

He gave my mom and myself a confused look.

My mom, who actually understood what he was asking, said, “My son cut his hand.”

Just a little cut though.

He nodded then told us to take a seat and that my name would be called soon. We sat in a spot that gave me a crappy view of 2 different TVs, but I could still tell that they were both playing the medical drama, “A Gifted Man,” which I assume is about a wizard working in a hospital. Near us, a teenage girl and her mother were gawking at me. I assumed it was because of the awesome t-shirt I was wearing, so I gave them a smile and a nod. Then I remembered that my bloody hand was clutching a bloody paper towel and that was what they were focused on.

I feel like I need to stop the story here and point out that I am not embellishing the truth to make me look more badass. This all actually happened. Besides, if I were to try to build myself up to look badass, would I have added the part where I was about to pass out from panic? I didn’t think so.

Anyway, after a few minutes, I was called back by a tall black woman with an African accent. She put me in this patient cubby hole (for lack of a better word- it was basically a small room without a fourth wall) and began to ask me questions. I was expecting most of them, like, “What happened?” “Where did this happen?” “When was your last tetanus shot?” “Whose your family doctor?” You know, important things. I answered all the questions and she finished signing me in. Which means that the guy I talked to did not. I don’t know why it takes 3 different people to sign in, but I decided I wanted to get my hand stitched up more than I wanted that question answered. She then took my bloody paper towel, threw it away, and wrapped my hand in gauze. She used an entire roll, which I felt was kind of extreme, but again, I decided not to question it.

Really, was all this necessary?

After I was finished with her, she sent me back out to the waiting room where I waited for the next hour. I know it was an hour because A Gifted Man finished and we were three quarters of the way through Blue Bloods before I was called again. The same guy whom I assumed was asking what I was doing later that night showed me into the actual emergency room area. We walked passed nurses talking to one another, reading charts of patients, and even a couple walking with roving laptop stands. He showed me to my room (again, cubby hole with a curtain), closed the curtain behind me, and walked away. The “room” was much bigger than the one I was in with the African woman. It had a bed, a sink and 2 counters with medical supplies, three chairs, and a table up against the wall and a TV. On the bed was one of those medical gowns that you always see in medical shows. Did I need to put that on? That would be weird, because I knew my cut wasn’t serious and that I would not be in here long. But then why was it on my bed?

I got my chance to ask when a rather awkward female Asian nurse came in to finish checking me in (Number 4 for those of you keeping track). She didn’t know, so I told her that my injuries weren’t serious enough to warrant me to wear the gown. She nodded and left. After a while (I think the news was on) a nurse came in and told me to wash my hands. She offered to do it, but I said that I could handle it. About 20 minutes later, my doctor came in getting even more information from me. She explained that I was going to need a tetanus shot since I hadn’t had one in years. She said that she would be back soon so that she could get me stitched up and out of here as soon as possible. Yes! That means I would only be about an hour late to work!

I was fucking wrong.

I sat through the rest of the news, an old episode of The Late Show With David Letterman, and through half of the Late Late Show With Craig Ferguson before the doctor finally came in to stitch me up. My friend Paul texted me to make sure that I was ok. He had seen the pictures I put on facebook. He was the only person to text me to make sure that I was OK, which means that he’s one of my few facebook friends that realy give a damn about me. For shame facebook friends, for shame. Anyway, my doctor came in and pumped my hand full of Novocain before she stitched my hand up. That went well, having your cut filled with Novocain. Did you know that that burns? Once she was done, She left and the nurse came back in to bandage up my hand. She seemed flustered and had a look on her face that said that she really wanted to go home. She asked herself out loud how she was supposed to bandage that. I said that I didn’t know. She eventually wrapped my hand like the African nurse did and then gave me a tetanus shot. She then gave me a bunch of papers on how to care for my stitches and a Doctor’s excuse from work. She then left and the Asian nurse came back in to get more of my information (Really?!) and for me to pay the $75 co-pay (FUCKING REALLY?!?!). By this point, my mom was texting me, asking me if they had forgotten about me. The nurse came back surprisingly fast with my credit card. I guess that makes sense. Getting paid should get done faster than me getting fucking stitches. I’m glad that they had their priorities in order.

Open wounds should never be a major priority

Once all that was said and done I walked out to the waiting room (I was going to limp to freak my mom out, but I thought better of it) to where my mom was standing. It was 1:22. My mom drove home, and I called my boss and told him that I was not going to come into work that night, even though I was driving right passed the store as I did. Once we got home, I realized how hungry I was; I hadn’t eaten anything since 3:30, and that was only 2 pieces of toast. So I finished making that tuna salad and I ate it.

Maybe it was because I was hungry, or maybe because some of my blood may have gotten into the tuna salad, but that was the most delicious tuna salad I’ve ever eaten.

OK, that’s all I have to say about that.



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