Hey, are you totally squeamish about blood? If you are, I’ll see you on Friday. This post features medical selfies! Yeaaaah!!
I really think that God is talking to me all the time. Early and often. Sometimes it’s a two-party conversation, while other times it’s just Him talking to me while I’ve got my fingers in my ears.
The current directive? “Kyra, you really need to practice some more patience.”
Me: “What? Huh? I can’t hear you! I am too busy rushing off to my next gig! I wish everything in the universe would just get out of my way! Can you help with that please and thank you?”
So God was like: ka-smackdown!
You see that? Pretty awesome gash right on my lips! I’m not much of a beauty queen anyway, but this? Dang… did the punishment really fit the crime, Lord?
I should probably explain how that happened…
My primary objective this morning was to get the boys to freaking school so that I could get over to the grocery store for some cold-weather snuggle food (read: chocolate and things for pancakes) and then off to Joann’s Fabric Store to look at swatches. We’ve finally got a (time and financial) window to make curtains for the dining room and play room, so I thought I’d pop over there and see the options.
But it was another rough school morning. Little boys were just difficult to get out the door. It probably doesn’t help that Ursa Minor is still getting over a little bit of a cold. In my frustration at being late, again, I got the boys into their seats in a hurry and then snatched open my own car door. The corner of the door went directly across my upper lip, the corner of it, apparently, taking a little piece of me as a souvenir.
I knew as soon as I looked at it that I needed to go to the Emergency Room. But we all know that this is a complicated thing. Wait times. Germ risk. Yadda yadda. Little boys at the emergency room is a bad idea.
So…. gotta take their little butts to school. The wound was bleeding but not gushing. Matter of fact, it was clotting already and the bleeding had, essentially, stopped. I put the car into drive and pull out the driveway.
And press the little phone button on the car control panel to call The Husband.
Car: “Sync. Please say a command.”
Us: “Phone.” “Phone!” “Yeah, phone!”
Car: “There is no device available right now. I will try to connect one.”
The stupid car thinks. Nothing connects.
First intersection we get to, I’m shuffling through my purse.
Oh, that’s just glorious. I’ve gotta go back home. There is no way I’m going to the ER without my phone.
So I drop the boys off.
Can I tell you, reader, that I spoke to no less than 6 people this morning while dropping my boys off. Real conversations with folk about children or New Years or whatever. Only one was like, “hey, so, what’s wrong with your face?”
New England? I don’t even know… I’m just going to put that out there.
So now here I start talking to God again.
“Hey, so uh… do you think I might be able to slide into Urgent Care instead of the ER, hm? What do you say?”
“Well, [Mrs. Wise], because of the place where you got the cut, we highly recommend that you go to the hospital instead of coming here,” the lovely nurse at Urgent Care told me on the phone. I think I hear snickering from above and beyond me.
Awesome. 10 o’clock. Boys gotta be picked up by noon. That’s a super-tight window, even at a small community hospital.
So I’ve gotta call up the village, because the boys have got to be picked up on time or else the school charges some astronomical fee (like, $40 every 5 minutes or something) if we’re late.
The good news? The village stepped up. The Husband caught a train home, picked up the boys, and one of the other moms took them home. Amazing. Brioche for many heroes before the end of the week!
The other good news? The ER really wasn’t that crowded. When I got there, there was no one in the waiting room. They took my blood pressure (it was high. wonder why?), and then had me take a seat. I got to do some people-watching, write the outline for this post, and even brainstorm a new novella idea. Hey! Great use of my time!
An unexpected surprise? My nurse guy, we’ll call him Jake to protect the innocent, was adorable (seriously! Such a cutie!) and really funny and kinda goofy. And bored, so we spent a lot of time together.
When my doctor came in to break up the fun, he sentenced me to three stitches. The dissolvable kind, so I don’t have to come back to get them out. He wondered if I’d had a tetanus shot and I had no idea (I’m assuming so). He sorta shrugged if off and told me he doubted anything bad would happen. He cleaned up the wound with some doctor cleaning stuff.
Then he disappeared for about 30 minutes.
So I took another selfie:
When he came back, he numbed me up (that kinda hurt), stitched me up (that didn’t hurt) and told me not to mess with the stitches. “You’ll want to lick the stitches. Don’t. And put some Vaseline on it to protect them.”
Who licks stitches? I hope I kept my face straight for that one.
And then he sent me on my way! A hundred bucks, three stitches, and a lost morning all because I couldn’t find any patience. Stupid me! Get it together!
Oh, and I’ve gotta be ugly for about a week. What’s worse than being Black in New England? Being Black and ugly in New England!
The numbness has subsided and now it really does hurt. I guess that’s a good thing because it means it’s healing. At least I got a post out of it, right?
Stay warm out there, dear reader. It is dangerously cold out there! I’ll see you on Friday for warm and Quiet Thoughts. Until then, take care!
I would like the record to show that I’ve now taken a total of 4 selfies ever in my life. All for the sake of the blog. You’re welcome. Facebook? Hell no. Blog? Hells yes. But not all the time because, as I said, I’m not a beauty queen!