Ouch!

I say this a lot as I work. For a few years now, I've been teaching myself how to react naturally to sudden pain. Lately I'm swinging back to the old ways and ignoring it again. It's probably not the wisest way, but it's more dignified.

Hurricane debris has its dangers. I dropped a big chunk of wood on my foot a couple days ago.

It was pretty bloody, but I tend to drip blood every time I hit the yard. So I shrugged it off.

When I took my special MRSA-killer bath that night (using Hibiclens, the soap of scrub for surgeons) I realized it was deeper than I thought.

Sigh.

Off to the ER I go. Holy Cross is my current fave.

I had to park some 60 feet away from the entrance! a busy night. Hurricane casualties. The waiting room only had a couple people, tho, so the rush was over. Good. Even though I brought some Jane Austen, just in case.

"We'll have you in and out!" they said. They were tired and about to change shift, they wanted to go home after the busy period. Or...

As I was getting myself processed, Walter called. Shoot. He heard the background noise so I had to confess where I was and what I did. Very quietly, he asked, Which foot? WHICH FOOT? --The right one. The good one. (w takes a deep breath.)

I was not quite paying attention to the conversations of the staff until I realized the shooting scene they were discussing wasn't a TV plot, or something in Miami, but right around the corner from the hospital. Some psycho. http://www.sun-sentinel.com/news/local/broward/sfl-cshooter09nov09,0,3174865.story?coll=sfla-news-broward

Everyone was trying to figure out how to drive home. We do that a lot these days anyway, what with hurricane complications.

Eeeekk! Perhaps they wanted to get us out quick just in case Mr. Psycho slipped the blockade and got in the hospital. Or, before they had another rush - a bunch of shot-up people.

Off I go to the little room with the little bed. Here comes Mr. Dr. He has a good look at it and starts cleaning it. I continue chatting with him like nothing is happening.

"Excuse me. Doesn't this hurt?" he asks.

"Hell yes!" I reply. I'm back from Allowing Myself to Say Ouch, to my original practice of Don't React.

He asked if I would mind if he used something other than stitches. Sure. but ???

And what does he pull out of his bag of doctor stuff? Superglue!!!

Oh, I'm delighted! I tell him it's my First Time. Never seen it used before, only heard rumors. It gives me the giggles.

He pulled out a little sealed package. I said, suspiciously now, That's not the kind I buy at Home Depot.

He grins. No, it's medical grade stuff. But still the real pure Superglue. Only the best.

I get a tetanus shot, and go over some MRSA things with him, and get sent on my way with stern warnings against Silvadening the Superglued boo-boo. (I'd shown them my little kit: How many people do you know who carry a bottle of Silvadene in their bag every time they leave home?) The nurse put a really cute bandaid on it with like four flaps to it? --Is that a special Big Toe Bandaid? --No, we use it for other places too - and I asked for one for my collection. She gave me a nice handful.

The shooter was still out there.

I went out the back way, and home.