Doing myself an injury
Nov. 28th, 2009 12:11 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
I wasn't at my usual workplace today, but at the one where I need to catch buses to get home (for those who know the city, this workplace is Across the Street from Northwest Fabrics). I was later than I meant to be leaving, so I saw the bus pull up to the corner at a probably futile distance. I decided to run anyhow. And the bus started pulling away, so i sped up to near sprinting, and was watching bus not ground when I hit a patch of heavy gravel I *knew* was there. I hit the driveway beyond at full speed plus gravity. And landed primarily on my left hand, though my left knee took a fair bit of the brunt.
Anyhow, the driveway I fell on was that of a slightly seedy motel at the end of the street, and an old man who'd stepped out the bar's back door for a smoke held it open for me to go in and rinse off my hand in their washroom (all he saw was that it was bleeding). I noticed that the porch was half-full even in zero degrees, and not a person had done more than glance over. Thanks, assholes. You know, I DID hit my head, and while it proved beyond trivial, at least so far, it might not have been. And I was LIMPING. (Okay. So I do that a lot, in a much smaller subtle way. This wasn't subtle.)
Anyhow, I made it up the handful of stairs, spotted the bathrooms instantly, and ran the thing under cold water, with a feeble attempt to flush it with soap. Then clamped a paper towel and my hand over it and kept it that way, while I looked for the exit of the bar to get to the hotel courtesy phone. And, in the wake of a smattering of applause, noticed the stage with the two poles and the girl wearing a skirt that was mroe like a belt, and as far as I could tell with her back to me, nothing else.
Not so much just bar, I guess. Huh. Hadn't known that. It doesn't advertise like the ones a few blocks further down...
And maybe not so much slightly seedy.
So, a stop at Misericordia's Urgent Care later... (Arrive 10 to 6, depart about 10. Colin was allowed to buy and bring supper into the waiting room, and I got some reading done, and the two of us took the whole less-than-two-minutes to solve someone's half finished cryptogram puzzle. And learned definitively why we don't regret not having a tv, due to exposure to Law and Order SVU.)
The doctor was a nice petite lady not much past my own age. I think Filipino, but I didn't catch her name. The nurse was a grizzled middle-aged man with big heavy hands and mild callusses, sympathized because he'd recently managed to give himself a similar scrape going off his bike, and proved fairly deft and light of touch (considering that what he was doing to cut away the flaps of flesh and scour the thing cleaner was going to be horribly painful whoever did it).
The left hand was BAD; I tried to remove several layers off my palm. And I don't mean oops, scrape, I mean the nurse couldn't actually cut all the skin off in one spot because it went too deep - trying made me yelp, and flushing it with liquid was, shall we say, worse than the entire physical side of the damned miscarriage. (though not even a blip on the same scale for anxiety, grief, shame, and other emotional trauma). I wouldn't let him do it a third time, and I acknowledged the necessity, because I did pick up some gravel even that deep.
The left knee is scraped, but was protected by the fact that for once I was wearing pants (...instead of **skirts**, for those with dirty minds), and while I've lost some range of motion from the swelling, nothing's broken or twisted. Advil is the order of the doctor.
The other hand has some barely surface damage, not even enough for the hospital to need to clean out.
And technically, my head touched ground, as I said, but I showed not even one sign of head trauma as far as me, Colin, admitting staff, doctor, or nurse noticed. (Or for that matter, any scrapes, though the arm of my glasses got one). And I'm pretty sure at least three of those above were consciously watching for it (Me included).
I suppose it's better palm than fingers (If I typed properly in the first place, I might be suffering, but for my two fingers per hand (and right thumb) method, I'm fine. And it is my off hand. OTOH, no mandolin and no archery. (I could probably try for mandolin after I get the dressing changed; I don't think the pressure would be direct. But I do expect my practices to be brief.)
And no rollerskating for Abacchus' birthday party tomorrow.
We'll see about yoga Monday. I think I'll be fine for tai chi, but I'm not planning on trying tonight.
(And immensely grateful that my MP3 player now has a padded case. It was also on my right side, and wasn't really fallen on with any serious weight. And there's a reason these are the Earphones that Will Not Die, the ones I go back to whenever a more expensive pair goes kaput. They were swinging loose in my right hand, because there was no way they'd stay in while I was running.)
Anyhow, the driveway I fell on was that of a slightly seedy motel at the end of the street, and an old man who'd stepped out the bar's back door for a smoke held it open for me to go in and rinse off my hand in their washroom (all he saw was that it was bleeding). I noticed that the porch was half-full even in zero degrees, and not a person had done more than glance over. Thanks, assholes. You know, I DID hit my head, and while it proved beyond trivial, at least so far, it might not have been. And I was LIMPING. (Okay. So I do that a lot, in a much smaller subtle way. This wasn't subtle.)
Anyhow, I made it up the handful of stairs, spotted the bathrooms instantly, and ran the thing under cold water, with a feeble attempt to flush it with soap. Then clamped a paper towel and my hand over it and kept it that way, while I looked for the exit of the bar to get to the hotel courtesy phone. And, in the wake of a smattering of applause, noticed the stage with the two poles and the girl wearing a skirt that was mroe like a belt, and as far as I could tell with her back to me, nothing else.
Not so much just bar, I guess. Huh. Hadn't known that. It doesn't advertise like the ones a few blocks further down...
And maybe not so much slightly seedy.
So, a stop at Misericordia's Urgent Care later... (Arrive 10 to 6, depart about 10. Colin was allowed to buy and bring supper into the waiting room, and I got some reading done, and the two of us took the whole less-than-two-minutes to solve someone's half finished cryptogram puzzle. And learned definitively why we don't regret not having a tv, due to exposure to Law and Order SVU.)
The doctor was a nice petite lady not much past my own age. I think Filipino, but I didn't catch her name. The nurse was a grizzled middle-aged man with big heavy hands and mild callusses, sympathized because he'd recently managed to give himself a similar scrape going off his bike, and proved fairly deft and light of touch (considering that what he was doing to cut away the flaps of flesh and scour the thing cleaner was going to be horribly painful whoever did it).
The left hand was BAD; I tried to remove several layers off my palm. And I don't mean oops, scrape, I mean the nurse couldn't actually cut all the skin off in one spot because it went too deep - trying made me yelp, and flushing it with liquid was, shall we say, worse than the entire physical side of the damned miscarriage. (though not even a blip on the same scale for anxiety, grief, shame, and other emotional trauma). I wouldn't let him do it a third time, and I acknowledged the necessity, because I did pick up some gravel even that deep.
The left knee is scraped, but was protected by the fact that for once I was wearing pants (...instead of **skirts**, for those with dirty minds), and while I've lost some range of motion from the swelling, nothing's broken or twisted. Advil is the order of the doctor.
The other hand has some barely surface damage, not even enough for the hospital to need to clean out.
And technically, my head touched ground, as I said, but I showed not even one sign of head trauma as far as me, Colin, admitting staff, doctor, or nurse noticed. (Or for that matter, any scrapes, though the arm of my glasses got one). And I'm pretty sure at least three of those above were consciously watching for it (Me included).
I suppose it's better palm than fingers (If I typed properly in the first place, I might be suffering, but for my two fingers per hand (and right thumb) method, I'm fine. And it is my off hand. OTOH, no mandolin and no archery. (I could probably try for mandolin after I get the dressing changed; I don't think the pressure would be direct. But I do expect my practices to be brief.)
And no rollerskating for Abacchus' birthday party tomorrow.
We'll see about yoga Monday. I think I'll be fine for tai chi, but I'm not planning on trying tonight.
(And immensely grateful that my MP3 player now has a padded case. It was also on my right side, and wasn't really fallen on with any serious weight. And there's a reason these are the Earphones that Will Not Die, the ones I go back to whenever a more expensive pair goes kaput. They were swinging loose in my right hand, because there was no way they'd stay in while I was running.)