Clumsy Katya: Part Three

So the Xondervan graciously cleaned up my trail of blood from the living room to the bathroom (including some on the wall, he said) and threw away the bloody quilt fabric. No need to put that in Baby Alex's quilt.

Since I'm on the HMO insurance plan, Xon called my primary care physician [PCP] on Monday to get a referral to a plastic surgeon. Unfortunately, in order for the hospital to release my ER records, I had to sign a release form. So I gussied myself up as best as I could, and we went to the doctor's office. I signed the form (which actually didn't need my signature, just my name and address--go figure) and asked if one of the nurses would mind changing my bandage. It was supposed to be changed every day, but when anyone got within ten feet of me, I had a mini panic attack. I did NOT want anybody even touching my arm, let alone my finger! But the nurse did a great job, and I was thankful to have that part over for the day.

Our PCP had to schedule the appointment with the plastic surgeon, so we waited... Apparently, it takes a few days to to fax ER records. :-) --A professor at work e-mailed me about a local surgeon who specializes in hands. So we called my PCP and requested him--Dr. Jim Moore. At this point, I was taking Lortab every six hours for pain, and Advil in between the Lortab doses. The Lortab made me pukey and sleepy, so I basically just stayed in bed for the next couple of days and cried quite a bit for no particular reason. I guess this kind of thing makes you emotional. --The drugs certainly don't help in that area.

Finally, on Wednesday my PCP called and said I could go see the surgeon on Thursday. Hooray!!!!!! --I sort of felt like I was in limbo, because I didn't know how bad the wound was. (I hadn't looked at it yet.) Would he have to do some sort of surgery? Would it heal on its own? Would I look like a freak? Would I have a fingerprint?

Finally, it was time for my appointment. It felt like Christmas! --I didn't want him to touch my finger, but I was excited to hear what he had to say. So we went to his office, and I wondered about all the people who were sitting in the waiting room. Were they there because of an injury? Or for cosmetic reasons? I had never been to a plastic surgeon before, but I was comforted by the fact that his office was REALLY nice. Surely he must have the latest equipment and techniques if he had that much money to decorate his office so well. Yes, I would be ok.

The nurse called me into the examining room, and we waited. The doctor came and examined my hand, pulled off the bandage that was stuck to the wound, and peeled off the cauterizing film that had been holding the wound together (which, again, felt like fire and was not my favorite experience ever). He asked if I had the fingertip to show him, but alas, the Xondervan and I had left it in a bag at the ER. Hope that didn't scare any of the nurses!

Dr. Moore told me to soak my finger in peroxide and change the bandage every day. He seemed to be upset that I wouldn't look at it, which made me feel like a moron (!!!!), but I assured him I could soak it every day without looking at it. After all, that's what the Xondervan is for. It had taken me a couple of days to get the picture out of my head of seeing a chunk of my finger on the floor, so I just didn't think it was best to have a bloody wound in my head, too. At least not until it had healed a little bit. I am very visual.

The doctor said no surgery was needed, that it would probably fill in with scar tissue. I asked if he thought it would heal completely, and he said yes. He thought it would take a month or two to grow some new skin, and within a year, it should be completely healed--nerve endings and all. Again, I had cut it just right! --So he just wanted to keep checking it to make sure it was healing properly. We made an appointment for the following Monday (ten days later). And that was all. We went out to the car, I had myself a really good cry, and then some chocolate-covered almonds as a reward. :-) That dude had not tried to be gentle.

My parents came for the weekend, which was nice because my mom's a nurse so she changed my bandage. I kept asking her if it looked normal, and she said, "Of course it doesn't look normal!" --I slept as much as I could, preparing myself to go back to work on Monday. I was really nervous about that, because I felt out of the loop and wasn't sure how much work I would be able to do since the majority of my job involves typing. --Even though I had just been gone a week, I felt like maybe I wouldn't fit in (Silly Katie...). But Wendy acted like nothing had changed, so after a few hours, I felt a little more confident and like I belonged again. Though I knew it was going to be a very long week! I was v-e-r-y s-l-o-w. --I'm sure Wendy got tired of everyone asking about it, but she was a champ. One grad student even asked if I would take the bandage off so he could see the damage. (Sounds like my sis!) But if I hadn't looked at it yet, I certainly didn't want anyone else to! I felt guilty because Wendy had to work so much overtime to cover for me. --Thank you, Wendy!

Well, that's about it for now. I went to the surgeon again today (and finally looked at my finger!), so at least one more installment of "Clumsy Katya" is yet to come. Whenever my right arm isn't tired. Farewell, loyal readers.