I am very grateful to have my health. So please keep this in mind when I tell you that I am BESIDE MYSELF due to the minor medical problem I’ve been dealing with over the past week.
You see, a week ago Tuesday I decided it would be a good idea to open a package of sausage using a knife and, as a result, I came close to cutting off the tip of my finger. I’m not very good with injuries and blood, so I spent the first 15 minutes after my accident trying not to throw up/pass out/throw up while I was passed out. I lay on my bed for a while, keeping pressure on my bleeding finger that I had expertly wrapped in 15 paper towels. My cat attended to me quite nicely, staying by my side and licking me with concern, but soon I realized I needed a bit more medical attention. And not just because I was panic-sweating through all three layers of my clothing.
After dropping my kids off at their respective evening activities–because come on, like we’re going to miss basketball practice–my husband drove me to the emergency room.
Let me just say that it was not a good time. I was there for FOUR hours. I was the least serious case that night, and so that meant that all the other people there had to be treated before me. Totally understandable, but after three hours of sitting by myself on a gurney in a freezing cold ER, I was kind of done.
I tried to pass the time by live tweeting my experience using the hashtag fingerbooboo. I entertained the idea of snagging one of the “Fall Risk” bracelets hanging on the wall; surely it could help me execute the most hilarious prank. I began to resent the woman behind the curtain five feet away from me that kept talking in detail about her gas. I even mentally lashed out at the woman on my other side who was offered ice water while I was not. I don’t know, nurses, maybe even though I don’t have a catheter and I’m not moaning I might STILL be a little parched for some ice water?
When the doctor finally came, it wasn’t much better. He injected me with some lidocaine to numb the whole finger before he stitched me up. Now, let me tell you, I’ve birthed two babies, and that had nothing on that lidocaine. GOOD. LORD. That was some serious pain right there.
FINALLY at 11 pm I could go home. Unfortunately it was a rough night as my finger was absolutely killing me after the numbing medicine wore off. I could not believe how much pain I was in from a cut finger. It was insane.
The next few days continued to be painful, not to mention inconvenient. You never know how easy life is until one little thing you take for granted is taken away from you, like the use of your left index finger.
My finger started to heal and keeping a bandage on it was annoying, so I stopped covering it and let it all hang out. My kids literally recoiled from me. No joke, my one kid wouldn’t even hug me he was so disturbed by the three stitches in my finger. I started to feel like a leper. It was difficult to cook, to do the dishes, type, you name it.
Yesterday was the day I could get my stitches out. I was so excited and so ready and I couldn’t wait. I went to my doctor and he removed them. I was feeling all good until a couple hours later when I looked down and realized that my finger was A COMPLETE DISASTER. Without getting into too much gross detail, let’s just say it looked just as badly as it did the day I injured it. I don’t know what the hell happened. It hurts all over again and looks totally gross and I tried to cheer myself up by trying a new chocolate cake recipe and instead of making something amazing and delicious I created THIS abomination:
This fingerbooboo has me totally off my game. All I can do now is slap a Band-Aid on it and hope for the best.
By the way, my pride will not allow me to leave you thinking that I bake cakes like the above on a regular basis. If you’d like to see what I was up to over the last year or so, check out my Instagram account (@towbinma) and see my cakes that are not abominations.