Do you know how hard it is to type with an incapacitated digit? (Thank goodness I’m not suffering a decapitated cranium!)
The night before last, while doing dishes and preparing supper, I went to hang up a dish towel on the oven handle. The pinkie on my left hand got caught in an air vent flange and was cut. Severely. I didn’t see the severity right away, not until Hubby went to work bandaging it after I ran it under water. Blood. Gushing. And gushing. And gushing. Out of a skin flap. Blech!
Normally I’m not a see-blood-feel-woozy sort of person, but the combination of blood and hunger affected my head and I suddenly felt as though I was going to pass out. I made a bee-line for the couch and got horizontal. The wooziness cleared and was further helped by the pizza Erik brought to me. (Isn’t he a sweet nurse?)
Because of the severity of the wound, I was scared to remove the bandage yesterday morning. I didn’t shower so I wouldn’t get it wet. (Nothing like compounding the blechyness.) In the evening, I decided it was time to tackle The Changing of the Bandage and used a tiny scissor to cut it off, rather than risk pulling at the scab by ripping off the bandage. As I got down to the interior bandage (oh, yeah, there were layers), I discovered the wet, pooled blood from the night before. Double blech! I reminded myself I could get through this by calling to mind the commercials for the movie “127 Hours,” which is based on the true story of a guy who got his arm caught under a boulder and had to cut it off because help was not forthcoming. (Hardly comparable situations, but, hey, it got me through.)
I have since changed the bandage several times, but it’s damned impossible to use that finger for typing now. I keep hitting keys I shouldn’t be hitting and having to compensate by using my ring finger to select the “a” key. Acres of fun, I tell you.