I wouldn’t say that I’m accident prone, but my body may tell you differently. Over the course of my life I’ve broken (in order) my left wrist, left pinky, left thumb, and left hand. I have a scar on my head from falling off of my bike at a very young age, a scar on my knee from getting stabbed by a cycle at a very young age, a weird looking black mark on the bottom of my foot from stepping on a nail in my bedroom, and so many other scars on my legs and hands from various incidents that are too random to remember that you’d think I would have been able to administer stitches to myself at this point. But the amazing thing through all of these injuries is that I’ve never had stitches.
Not a one.
Well, technically I had stitches in my mouth from when I had my wisdom teeth removed and stitches in my nose from when I got hit in the face with a hockey stick on an errant slapshot that caused my septum to deviate almost completely to one side which required surgery to correct (hence the stitches), but I’ve never been admitted to the ER to receive stitches for any of the myriad of cuts or scrapes I’ve had in my life.
That almost ended this weekend
Carol and I have been working on remodeling our kitchen for a while now and will continue for a while longer, but it’s looking really nice. Back when it was still cold out, Carol took to painting the walls and all of the cabinets various shades of tan and brown to match a kitchen that she saw on one of her home remodeling shows that we both really liked. After finding a countertop at Home Depot on clearance and a stainless steel sink on Craigslist (Carol never buys ANYTHING at full price – ever) we decided that we would (as always) enlist of the help of my jack-of-all-trades father and get to work on it this past Saturday.
Now, my father is well aware of my acumen for getting injured so I am always very cognizant to ensure that I stay either as injury-free or as quiet about any injury that I may have incurred while I’m around him. Unfortunately, the past few times we’ve worked on something together that hasn’t been easy.
My father called me a few months ago to help him put the final touches on his refinishing of his and my mother’s decks. The job called for me to hold a lot of boards above my head while he drilled them into place. Of course, as fun as that sounds, I soon became bored and wanted to get in on the drilling action. The wood he was using was specially treated and, as a result, a little harder than most wood. Additionally, because we were on the ground level working on a deck coming out of their bedroom above us, all of the boards and some of the angles were difficult to get to from a ladder.
The first couple of screws that I drilled went pretty well. The last one I drilled (not because the project was done – it was just the last one I drilled) didn’t turn out so hot. I was on a ladder trying to drill a screw that was fairly close to the house. Being right-handed, I was having a difficult time finding an angle to work from where I could get enough pressure to send this screw home. Well, after a series of drilling and then reversing the screw out, I somehow ended up having the drill jump on me and go right into my left thumb just outside the fingernail.
Because my mother was out there and I really hate using the word in front of either of my parents, I stifled the “F*CK” that I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs and instead kept my cool and looked down at the mass of blood that was now running down my left thumb. I tried to suck the blood (as my father has taught me to do) and see if that would stop it, but the blood kept on coming and was now running down my hand. I got directions from my mother as to where they kept the hydrogen peroxide and band-aids (and gauze if necessary) and went into the house to inspect my new wound.
As I washed it off, I noticed that there seemed to be two wounds that I was bleeding from. The first was right by the fingernail and seemed to be bleeding pretty good. The second was on the opposite side of my thumb roughly a quarter of an inch past the first wound. And, the more I looked at it, it appeared as though the skin was going outward as if it were an exit wound. It, too, was bleeding pretty good. Now, I don’t know if the drill went all the way through my thumb or not. It didn’t feel like it did (as if I had anything to compare it to) and based on the shape and size of the drill bit, I have no idea how it even could have. What I do know is that I had two wounds through a really fatty part of my thumb that appear to be an entrance and an exit wound and anytime that I touch that part of my thumb, it tingles all the way through. You be the judge.
Anyway, that’s not what I’m here to tell you about.
Prior to my dad getting to the house on Saturday, Carol and I decided to do some pre-work. We took all of the drawers out of the cabinets and removed any pots/pans/Tupperware/casserole dishes, etc. out from underneath the countertop and placed them on the other side of the kitchen. Carol then proceeded to rip out a layer of tile behind the current countertop as our new one has a backsplash that would cover up most of the now exposed wall. While she was doing this, I went out to the garage to clear out a workspace for us to cut the new countertop to size before bringing it into the house.
As I was moving things around, I noticed that the sink that Carol had bought off of Craigslist was still out there and needed to be cleaned prior to being dropped in the new counter. I carried it out to the sidewalk, grabbed a hose and a brush, and even went into the house to get some Comet to scrub the shit out of this thing. Once I was done cleaning the inside, I turned it over to look at the bottom. It was there that I noticed a bunch of putty and caulk that was still stuck on from when the previous owners had ripped it out. Being the master toolsman that I am, I deemed that the best tool for removing this was a phillips-head screwdriver.
I don’t know why I picked a phillips-head. I could have used a flathead. I could have used a putty knife. I could have even tried to grab it by hand and rip most of it off. I don’t know if one method would have prevented what happened next any more than another method. What I do know is that once I got started I knew what I was doing was stupid but still didn’t stop.
As I was digging away at the caulk with my handy dandy phillips-head screwdriver, Carol stepped outside to see what I was doing. As I began talking to her I took turns looking at her and looking at what I was doing with the sink. All of a sudden, and I still have no idea what caused it, my hand slipped off of the screwdriver and my thumb slammed right into the rounded corner of the stainless steel sink.
I sometimes wonder why I do the things I do. I sometimes wonder why I’m so careless and so cock-sure that even though I know what I’m doing is stupid, I continue to do it anyway with the idea that nothing bad will happen. I also sometimes wonder why while I’m the middle of doing something and an idea pops into my head of a way to do it safer or more effectively, I stick with my original method because “it’s working well so far.” I knew the entire time that I was working with that screwdriver that the edges of the sink were sharp and that I could easily cut myself. I also knew the entire time that I’m a stubborn ass who wants to get things done my way.
Unfortunately, the result of doing things my way is that I sliced my thumb open pretty good. Basically, I cut it from the top of my thumb in the middle all the way down the inside halfway down the fingernail. Immediately, the blood came pouring out and quickly (once again) covered my thumb. I did the little “oh shit” dance and looked at it again before seeing that I had gotten myself pretty good. As dad taught me, I tried to suck at the blood, but there was just too much coming out. I needed to go inside. Thankfully, Carol was outside as she opened the door for me as I walked into the kitchen to the sink (thankfully, I hadn’t turned the water off yet) and washed off my thumb.
As I held it under the water, the blood would not stop pouring out. Now, in addition to never having stitches, I’ve also never passed out. I’m not sure if I was close to passing out while looking at all of this blood, but I did get a little dizzy and definitely felt the blood leaving my face. Luckily, I was able to bring myself back to reality and decided to move into the bathroom where the hydrogen peroxide was to give it a better cleaning.
From the second Carol saw my gaping would (yes, it was gaping), she began asking me if I needed stitches. Now, like I said before, I’ve never had stitches and wouldn’t even begin to know what a cut that needed stitches would look like. I also was well aware of my current streak of never having had stitches and was pretty adamant about keeping that streak alive. As I looked down at my thumb, however, I saw that not only was I cut but that the cut seemed to be opened a little wide for my liking. At that point I decided that maybe stitches would be for the best, but not after I gave it one more chance with the hydrogen peroxide.
I was almost resigned to go to the hospital, but miraculously, once Carol poured the peroxide on the cut (I would have done it myself but I can never remember if it’s peroxide or rubbing alcohol that makes it sting really bad. As a result, I had Carol pour it so that I wouldn’t jump at the pain and spill the remaining contents of the bottle) the bleeding stopped. It was then that I was able to get a really good look at my newest future scar. I could see that it wasn’t good, but the really deep part wasn’t horribly big and wouldn’t have needed more than 1-2 stitches to close it up and I was NOT going to break my no-stitches streak for a lousy 1-2 stitches. As a result, I decided that I would not be going to the hospital, washed my hands with soap and water (that’s when the stinging occurred – son of a bitch!), put on my Toy Story band-aids, and went back to work.
I was hesitant to tell my father that I was already injured before he even got there, but it was quite obvious that my thumb was covered in multi-colored band-aids. Also, I’m what you might call a bit of an attention whore, so any chance I got to bring up the fact that I was working through this horrific injury, I took. Dad, as usual, just shook his head and went about his business.
Yes, the band-aids, temporary numbness, and constant ramming of my thumb into any object that got in the way and the resulting wave of intense pain may have made things a little difficult, but I worked that day alongside Carol and my dad and we got the counter top and sink done. And, might I add, it looks great. When I woke up on Sunday morning, the pain had gone away and I was left with just a gaping wound which will hopefully close up soon. Plus my no-stitches streak is still intact.
I do wonder if the bleeding is supposed to have stopped by now though…
Oh well.
Thanks for reading.
BTW: I was going to post a picture of it along with the blog, but have decided against it. For anyone that wants to see it, it's on my Facebook page within my picures. Enjoy.
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