Saturday, March 31, 2012

A Slice of Life

This story has a bit of an edge to it.

Bad pun.

My humor is not as sharp as some knives.

Ouch. Worse pun.

Okay, let me just cut to the chase.

By now you are writhing in just about as much pain as Jennifer was on Wednesday, the 21st, when she sliced her fingers.

Jen showing off her Mini Mouse fingers. 

She was trying to get one of those annoying, plastic zip ties off some packaging. Scissors weren’t doing the trick, so she picked up one of her brand new, super sharp pairing knives and sliced away.

Right through the tips of her forefinger and middle finger tips.

This was around 7:30 and we trotted off to an immediate care facility. After an hour or so, we finally got to see a doctor who took one look at Jennifer’s fingers and started a professional retreat.

“Wow, hand injury, huh? Well, I might be able to do something for you, but ... well, what’s your profession? Do you use your hands? Is it important to keep your finger tips?”

I’m not making this up.

“I suggest you go to the hospital which specializes in hand injuries. I’ll call ahead and tell them you will need a hand specialist.”

By now, he had Jennifer sufficiently freaked out. I had taken a quick, queasy look at her fingers and couldn’t believe this was all as bad as he was saying. But I felt that maybe this guy was saying he wasn’t that good at suturing.

So, off to the next hospital. Another sitting around for another two hours until we finally got to see a doctor. She was great.

She told us that the outpatient facility gets paid by the number of patients they treat and don’t want to spend more than ten minutes with any given person. So they make up all kinds of excuses to send people who need stitches elsewhere. She reassured us that the cuts were not that bad.

Jennifer was a champ throughout the whole process. She never cried. She was making chatty conversation with everyone along the way. The Novocain shots were incredibly painful but she suffered through them. And she even refused to take the proscribed amount of painkillers for the following week. Something about wanting to be just below the level of comfortable. An attitude I don’t understand, but admire.

Since then, her “Micky Mouse fingers” have not slowed her down. She makes coffee, cooks, does the dishes and the laundry. And generally makes sure we have a clean, warm and wonderful home while we two grunts trot off to the boat every day.

She’s a brave and strong woman.

Today, she and I celebrate four years together. And our relationship is four times better than that first day we met. I love her dearly. And I’m pretty sure she loves me too.

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