Monday, November 12, 2007

1387th stupid thing that's happened to me.

I have a tendency to do stupid things to myself or stupid things just naturally happen to me. Like my eye infection that came out of no where and turned me into a one sided Quasimodo.

Yesterday as we were leaving to go out to breakfast, I was trying to keep our front door open so my husband could wheel Mateo out the door without the door crashing on them. See, our front door is a VERY heavy fire door with a broken swing mechanism that should slow the door down from slamming shut since it's so HEAVY. The swing thing broke last year and we just never bothered to fix it. As I was trying to get myself out the door, the door closed quickly, which is something I should be used to, and slammed on my index finger. I immediately screeched and stood there with my wounded hand held up and my mouth hanging open.

My husband asked me which finger got crushed, thumb or index finger, and I just turned around, went back inside, sat on our bed and began to cry while watching my index finger and fingernail turn bright purple.

My husband came back inside with Mateo (who thought it was quite fun being in the stroller while in our bedroom). He came over to me and looked at my finger, grabbed it, which I then yelled not to do, and told me how much he knows that hurts, do I still want to go out to eat, what did I want to do.

Not realizing the severity of my crushed index finger, but trying to be a breakfast trooper, I told him I still wanted to go. I sucked it up, tried to act like it didn't hurt, that I was perfectly okay with the pain, and off we all went.

I'll skip the story about how I realized as soon as we go into the restaurant that it was a really bad idea going out to eat with Mateo because of his age and that he's basically a nut ball who wants to be on the go all the time and into every one's business. My finger continued to scream out in pain and was throbbing horribly during the whole meal. Even though what I really wanted to do after stuffing food down my throat quickly and being spat upon by my Linda Blaire child was just go home, curl up into a ball of sadness and pain, I suggested we still go to my Mom's to visit and pick up some stuff she was holding for me.

After a couple of hours being there, and after already suggesting that we leave, which I got no response to, we left (football was on, we left during half time, go figure). My dad arrived home from work right when we were leaving, and he took a look at my finger, declared it not "that bad," and asked if it was throbbing. I said yes. He said when he got his fingernail poked to relieve the pressure/blood, he immediately felt better. I said I was thinking about that because it was getting really bad.

After we got home, and I had become rather passive aggressive because all I wanted to do was what I said a few paragraphs ago (curl up into a ball - just a reminder), and all my husband wanted to do was clean, which meant I was on Mateo patrol, and after doing some brief research on poking a hole through a fingernail to relieve the bruising pressure, I told my husband to go ahead, do it.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. At this rate, I won't even be able to sleep tonight. I just won't watch," I said. Firmly.

He ran around, getting needles, gauze, peroxide, a plier to hold the needle, while I sat in Mateo's rocking chair and he toodled around his room, investigating all that he could.

When it was time, I brought Mateo into the living room and went into the kitchen. Mateo immediately went to the baby gate blocking him from the fun and began to whine.

My husband had boiled my sewing machine needles (yes, even while in massive pain, I still had to notice this, point it out and make fun of him) to make them sterile. I put my finger over the kitchen sink and tried not to pass out.

He gentle placed the sharp end of the needle onto my nail. And then pressed. And I cringed. And he pressed. And I felt sick. Like I was going to faint. Then he told me he didn't think the needle was hot enough.

I suggested a lighter. We looked for one, found one and were good to go.

I stood at the sink while he heated up the end of the needle. The middle of my stomach kept tightening up, and I knew I was pretty much a goner, that if we continued with this minor surgery, I was going to pass out. I looked at the needle, saw the bright red tip, and said, "I can't do this. I'm going to faint."

My husband sighed. I ran to the couch and curled up into a ball.

He came over and told me to go to the ER. I said no. He said go. I said no. He asked if I would do it for Mateo. I said no, I wouldn't do it for anyone.

After a few minutes, I decided if any hole was going to be poked through my nail, I would have to do it. I'm just the kind of gal that has to be in control of things, and if that means I do it myself and risk fainting, then so be it.

I went into the kitchen, got some more needles prepared, heated up the tip of one, and started poking a hole through my nail.

Now, this is where I want to interject and tell you all that 1. I don't recommend doing this at home only because of risk of infection, so just because I'm stupid enough to do it, doesn't mean you should be, and 2. the guy who wrote about doing this to himself lied. It does hurt. Regardless of how much blood is pooled under your nail. It. Hurts. A. Lot.

I finally got through to the blood, a minuscule amount of blood came through, I sucked some air in while reheating the needle, thinking, okay, this is it, one more try, and all this blood must splatter through, the pressure will be relieved, and so what if I faint? At least my finger will feel much, much better.

For some stupid reason, I no matter how many more times I tried (probably 5 more), I couldn't get any more blood to come through. And for some reason, just doing what I did, seemed to help. Or it was the motrin I took just before doing all this. Don't get me wrong, my finger still hurt like a dickens, but it didn't hurt-hurt. Not like before. Like I was on the verge of passing out from pain-hurt.

So I gave up. And now, not only is half my nail black and my finger swollen, not to mention still extremely pained, I'm sporting a lovely black hole in what used to be the white half-moon of my nail. You can actually see the dried blood around the edges of the hole, and I swear, when I rub my fingernail over the hole, I can feel the flesh under my bruised nail.

With that said, I'm getting our door fixed as soon as I can.

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