By the way, thank you for all the prayers and support regarding Tuesday’s post… Liz and I really appreciate it, and I’ll keep you updated on any answers that I get.
On that post, you probably noticed this picture:
I mentioned that day that I almost cut the top of my index finger off. It happened a couple of years ago, and since I know how everyone likes to hear a good emergency story, I thought I’d fill you in on that adventurous day.
It was the middle of the afternoon on a weekday. My mom had come over to watch the children a bit (I don't really remember why). I was washing the dishes, when suddenly the glass that I was washing, a water goblet, broke and sliced my finger. Blood, pain, skin flapping – all that happened. I called my mom to come out and look at it, and she said, "You're going to need stitches."
I called Liz, who was at work. Here’s somewhat how our conversation went:
Me: (after Liz answered the phone) Umm... Liz, I cut my finger.
Liz: Okay… are you all right? How did it happen?
Me: I’m okay, but it’s a pretty bad cut. I was washing the dishes and a glass broke.
Liz: Oh, well, do you need me to come home?
Me: Probably. My mom is here.
Liz: Your mom is there? So… why would I need to come home?
Me: Well, you’re probably going to have to take me to Urgent Care.
Liz: Urgent Care?! So, it’s that bad? Well, why didn’t you just say that to begin with?!
She hung up the phone and came home and drove me to Urgent Care. At this point, she said the thing about this being sort of like a date. Yeah, Liz, it’s just the kind of date that everyone would like to have, I probably said. She just laughed, I’m sure.
Have you ever been to the doctor and you can just tell that your medical case is primarily the reason he or she went into medicine? That’s how I felt when the PA on duty saw me that day. He got a little excited when we looked at my finger, and then, as he probed further and realized I had nicked a tendon, he seemed to be energized even more, and started telling us stories about when he was a medic in Vietnam. You could just tell this guy was loving sewing me up.
Overall, I got 7 stitches, and I was told to “take a few ibuprofen” if the pain got too bad. This is funny because a couple of months after this episode, my wife actually fell and cut her hand open and had to go to the ER (because Urgent Care was closed), and they gave her a Percocet and some Vicodin for later. Let’s just say that I could have used some Vicodin to get me through that night.
So that’s the story of my stitched up finger that I shared on Tuesday. It's less flexible now and I can only bend it so far because of the scar tissue.
I tell you this because I needed a blog post for today. Also, I thought you needed to know a little more of my medical history.
Scott Keen grew up in New York, the youngest of three children. While in law school, he realized he didn't want to be a lawyer. So he did the practical thing--he became a writer.