Thankfully the anesthesia did prove effective and the only pain I experienced once my thumb was numb was the knowledge of the inconvenience this wound would cause.  Being a health care professional, I enjoyed watching the stitching (save the part where the fillet I had sliced into the dorsal aspect of my thumb was lifted to assess potential tendon damage).  The process was very precise  and yet somewhat haphazard as no two cuts are the same so deciding how to bring the skin together is somewhat of an art-form. 

After the doctor was finished with his handiwork, the next health-care worker I encountered pushed the very boundaries of person-hood.  With this person, I got the feeling that if I took her pulse, her heart would have been beating at exactly one beat per minute faster than absolutely necessary to maintain adequate blood flow to her brain thus sustaining consciousness.  This person, who shall remain nameless because I don't remember her name, struggled with such simple tasks as ambulating across the room.  This barbiturate laden person was who was sent in to dress my finger.  This may sound minor, but I had just been given instructions to keep the finger dry for 24-48 hours to minimize the chances of the finger becoming infected.  So you can be assured at my lack of confidence in pulseless Patty to properly dress the wound.  Luckily, the final product turned out to be fairly secure and occlusive and capable of keeping out moisture, despite that fact that whole countries have been formed in the time it took this person to apply this dressing.  The absolute best thing I got from this person is the knowledge that peroxide is the best thing to use to get blood out of clothes if it hasn't yet set in.  That shit worked like magic.  I'm not sure if the peroxide binds to the proteins in the blood or what, but when you pour it on the stain a white cloud is formed that slowly turns a deep maroon color and with a  little bit of elbow grease, the blood is completely gone. 

There are several other things about this ordeal that I could explore in greater detail, but mostly I'm sick of writing about my finger.  I'm anxious to discuss some other shit I did.  

The finer points of wound closure

When recounting the same half-baked story about how I cut myself roughly half a dozen times to various nurses and doctors and x-ray technicians, the story becomes even more so and by this time even I don't believe a word of it.  If I'm on the other side listening to a story like this I would never believe that things happened that way, even though I told it pretty convincingly.  Even when I told the story a hundred more times to co-workers and friends who noticed the giant bandage on my thumb, I could see that they were thinking "why the hell were you whittling sticks?"  I would imagine that everyone I recounted the tale to attributed my recklessness to booze, which if it were the case I would be happy to admit.  Unfortunately I just wanted to cut things and my thumb got in the way. 

The first doctor that examined the wound told me that she was about to go off duty and if she could quickly throw a few stitches in it and be done she would do so in order to expedite things.  When she pulled off the half-assed dressing the triage nurse had put on the guyser of blood was back.  The good doctor immediately realized this was not the sort of thing she would be able to handle quickly and pawned me off to the night shift doc.  She also mentioned that the doctor would have to pull back the flap the terminator had created and assess for tendon damage.  She also wanted to get an x-ray.  The prospect of finger surgery caused a chain reaction resulting in the dynamic duo of my liver and kidneys quickly filtering out any remaining alcohol out of my system.  I was sober, they had my attention. 

Luckily the wait for the next doctor was short.  This one was  a surgeon so I was assured proper wound closure by the previous doctor.   To stitch a cut like the one I inflicted on myself, the entire thumb must be numbed.  In order for this to occur, an approximately two inch needle filled with lidocaine is inserted into the base of the thumb around the entire circumference.  The needle goes in until it touches the bone.  Bone pain is the worst kind of pain.  The numbing process hurt far worse than any other part of this ordeal.  Even after the thumb is numb and the doctor begins to put humpty dumpty back together, you live the next thirty minutes in fear, thinking what if the lidocaine loses its effectiveness and suddenly I can feel everything.  It's not a rational fear per se, but it's certainly a prevalent one, particularly when the flap is gripped with a clamp and lifted from the rest of your thumb.  The doctor assures you that he can give you more lidocaine at the drop of a hat if need be, which in and of itself means more pain, but if the feeling suddenly rushed back he wouldn't be able to give me the medicine quickly enough.  I keep thinking I'll be able to finish this, but I keep running out of room.  I'll try again next time.

Snitches get stitches Redux

After coming to the realization that I wouldn't be able to hide the cut from everyone, I believe I uttered something along the lines of "I just cut the shit out of myself."  It wasn't a blood curdling scream, it was a very matter of fact admittance that the incredibly sharp knife that I had run my mouth about all day had turned on me and caused a severe injury.  Just when I thought that the terminator and I were going to be the best of friends, him always being clipped on my belt, and me ensuring that his needs to terminate were met.  I should have known that a cyborg would not be capable of such companionship. 

After dripping blood all over a brand new shirt that I was wearing for the first time,  I needed to be able to assess the wound and in order to do that I needed to get some of the seemingly endless supply of blood pouring out of my thumb out of the way.  So with the help of some friends who had full use of both of their opposable thumbs, I made my way over to the garden hose and washed of the blood.  Little did I know that this would result in the blood going away for roughly one tenth of a second.  As soon as the water stream was taken away from my thumb, the massive quantity of blood that had been there before was back with a vengeance.  Given the amount of blood that continued to pour from my injured digit, and the depth of the cut that I managed to determine in the incredibly brief window that I was able to view it, I now knew that medical attention would have to be sought. 

Whomever is responsible for the operation of what seemed to be the only urgent care in Brevard seems to me to have a poor understanding of the urgent care system.  Most of the urgent care's that I have been to have hours that extend past what a regular doctor's office does so that if something come's up, the average working joe who is at work during regular business hours can seek medical attention.  This particular establishment was open Monday through Friday nine to three.  Then on Saturday it was only open nine to one.  So the lesson here is, when in Brevard have your non life threatening injuries or illnesses occur in that limited set of hours, or else you're heading to the emergency room. 

This injury marked only the second time that I had been on the wrong side of a hospital bed.  The first being the pee out of my butt watered down diarrhea shitfest in Peru.  This time at least all of my providers spoke English so I could be a little more involved in my treatment.  Thankfully this was not a bustling metropolitan hospital and when I arrived in the emergency room, there were only two people in front of me.  On arrival, it occurred to me that I had been into the cups when I did this to myself and that I didn't want the doctor to come into the room and smell booze on me.  I didn't want to be the cliche alcohol related injury that I'm sure provides the bulk of many emergency rooms' business.  But, who was I kidding, I was the cliche.  Even though I was the cliche, I still chewed some gum in the waiting room to mask the alcohol scent on my breath.  It wasn't a casual chewing of the gum either, I smacked it to release as much of the flavor and juices of the gum as possible, and I constantly swept my tongue with it to maximize the masking effects of the gum.  As I finish that sentence I realize I'm out of room again, so tune in next week (maybe sooner) same bat time, same bat channel. 

Snitches get stitches

Cutting towards your body with a knife called the terminator seems like a mistake that is easily avoided.  However, there's a certain brand of dickhead who doesn't hold on to basic knife safety lessons that began with their first pocketknife from some tourist trap in Cherokee.  This particular brand of dickhead would be the sort who would invent a reason to go out and buy the biggest sharpest fucking knife that he could find, provided it was twenty dollars or less of course.  This shaft helmet would also be the sort who would go on to no end about all the cutting that was to occur once this sharp ass knife was purchased.  The given reason for getting my hands on a badass knife was to whittle down sticks to roast marshmellows with.  But let's call a turd a turd here.  I wanted a knife cause knives are awesome.  Cutting shit is fun and you have fun when you cut shit.  Cool guys don't look at explosions, but they do have badass knives clipped to their belts when they do it.  I only wish that I had gotten the opportunity to do some more cutting since it was the first cut with my brand new sharp ass knife that I made that took me out of commission.  It wasn't fair, if you're going to get hurt doing something stupid, you should get some fun out of it.  As it is, I cut the fuck out of my finger and all I got were some stupid jokes and a hospital bill. 
When the blade slipped off of the branch I was cutting and into my flesh the idea initially came to me to try to hide the cut.  I had spent so much of the day spewing feces from my mouth about how much cutting I was going to do and how much of a better place the world would be with me as a sharp ass knife owner.  When I bought the knife, the cashier who could best be described as an old lady warned me not to get into trouble with the knife.  She said this in such a way that led me to believe she thought I was going out stabbing that evening.  Cause, you know, it's a summer night in a mountain town and that's what you do right? You knife those bitches.  This idea of mine to conceal the wound lasted approximately one to two seconds.  The idea sort of got shat on when I realized how much I was bleeding.  There was no way I would be able to hide the damage I had done to myself.  Everyone was going to know, and all of that bullshit that came out of me about buying a knife and fucking up some sticks was coming right back at me.
I think that maybe you don't know that much about yourself until you seriously injure yourself.  Maybe  this cut doesn't meet the criteria for a serious injury but it is the most serious injury I have ever suffered.  I was kind of a weenis when I was a kid.  I never broke a bone, I never did a bunch of stupid shit that could of killed me.  The first thing you realize is how stupid you are for doing the thing that injured you.  Pulling a knife called the terminator towards your body.  Really?  That's a thing that I did that seemed like the right idea.  How could I get so dumb when I'm holding a thing so sharp.  Shouldn't I have gotten smarter when I'm holding something that dangerous.  What happens if I ever have to fight for my life?  Am I going to cockpunch myself and get murked?  That didn't make much sense, but it occurred to me to use cockpunch and I couldn't think of another way to get it in.  The other thing you learn about yourself is how you're going to deal with that shit.  Maybe it was because somehow gashing half of my thumb off didn't really hurt.  I've had stubbed toes that hurt worse than blading myself did.  It certainly wasn't for a lack of a bloody fucking mess that I was able to keep my cool.  Regardless of the reason, I did keep my wits about me pretty well despite the situation which is a good thing to know that you're capable of.  I just realized that you run out of space with these things so I'll have to finish this story later.