Well, went to the GP yesterday to have the hand looked at.

Was a GP I’ve never seen before and I was a bit O_o when she said ‘It might need to be sutured. I can’t do that, so let’s see what the treatment room nurses think.’ She can’t suture? Really? I would think that would be a basic thing a person would learn in medical school. But I could be wrong.

In any case, went to the treatment room and waited. Not too long, for once. They use a ‘take a number’ system and I was 35 and they had just called 32 as I sat down.

Anyway, first nurse looks at it and disappears. About 5 minutes later I hear ‘Yes, it needs to be re-bandaged and maybe sutured, can you do it?’ So first nurse apparently not able to suture either.

Second nurse comes in and takes a look. ‘Oh, excellent job with the steri-stips, Robyn. I’ll just get more bandages and more strips, Robyn….here we go, Robyn…’ You get the idea. I wanted to say to her ‘Yeah, I know my name, thanks.’

In any case, no sutures, just more steri-strips, an antibacterial bandage to be on the safe side and some waterproof strapping/bandaging. She offered to put it in a sling so I could milk it a bit, but I declined. 🙂

She also suggested that if being a graphic artist didn’t work out, I could be a nurse, based on my steri-stripping ability. Ok.

So the bandages come off on Sunday and the steri-strips to stay on until they fall off. It mostly feels okay, although pushing the pram with it today hurt. I was going to try to do some stuff while Adam slept today but I’ve decided to just rest instead.

So since we’ve moved into the house 3 weeks ago, Adam has had D&V for 2 weeks and now I’ve given myself a lovely scar across my palm.

And we’re still not unpacked…

So while unpacking the other day I unwrapped my favourite vase. It was an engagement gift to Simon and I, lo these many years ago. A fabulous perfect cylinder with etching around it. It was great for any and all varieties of flowers, just so long as they had long stems.

Source

And last night, while giving it a ‘just unwrapped from packing’ wash, it slipped out of my hands and broke against the side of the sink. That part was bad enough. The gouge in my hand is also fairly horrific.

I was home alone with Adam and he was right there so I grabbed the nearest clean tea towel and pressed it against the wound, as blood dripped down my hand. He was totally un-phased by it all until I shouted at him to keep out of the way as I wasn’t sure if there was glass on the floor and he was in bare feet. Then he got upset because of the shouting.

Anyway, I managed to get into our first aide box and steri strip and bandage it, while comforting an hysterical toddler. Then I got Simon and the phone and suggested he get home as quick as possible and that we order pizza for dinner!

Both of those things occurred as well and once Adam was in bed we took a look at the wound. We both agreed that spending the night in A&E wasn’t necessary (thank god!) as it was barely weeping at that point.

I am about to call my GP’s office to get it looked at as the bandage has evidence of it still weeping a bit, mostly if I use it, which I am trying not to do. But it’s my right hand! How do lefties manage?!

Of course the horror of how much worse it could have been immediately floods your mind. Three inches lower and my wrist would have been cut and I would have been calling 999, dealing with a scared toddler and trying not to pass out from blood loss.

Instead I’ve sent Adam off to day care with Simon (one good part, I don’t have him to cope with today) and I’ll mostly rest today and try not to use the hand.

And try not to cry at the loss of my absolutely best and favourite vase.