psych.ward.

Please excuse me for missing out on the blog update yesterday, I have a good excuse. I met ben at the apartment to help paint, and to move in some more stuff. I got a six shelf version of this shelf, and started to assemble it so that I'll have somewhere to store my shoes. The poles/casters/other pieces were all attached to the shelves with those thick plastic ties, and I had to cut them free with my trusty leatherman juice. It was 9:34pm. All was going well. I had five of the six shelves assembled, and was working on the sixth. As I cut the plastic tie on the last shelf, the knife slipped and I gouged the part on the top of my hand where my thumb meets the rest of my hand. I've never cut myself that deeply before, and was shocked at how much blood there was, even though I immediately applied pressure. It was abundantly clear that I was going to need stitches, and unlike et#1, I decided to go directly to the hospital.
A suggested that I go to a nearby hospital. With all the great hospitals in boston, we would normally venture a little further and go to the brigham or beth isreal, but with something straightforward like stitches, it seemed a better idea to go where the wait would be minimal. Unfortunately, I arrived at the hospital at the same time as a group of firefighters who were badly injured in a four alarm fire not a half mile from my house. It was a horrible situation, and everyone in the waiting area gave their best wishes to the many firemen who waited to hear news about their friends. Clearly, it was going to be a long night. Our somber moods were distracted by two obviously intoxicated patients; one a drunk man who vomited in a basin and complained constantly that he'd been there for 2 1/2 hours, the other a younger woman who was itching for her next fix and hobbled around the waiting area cursing and shaking violently every so often.
Mayor menino came for a while and talked to the victim's family and other injured firemen, but by 1am, everyone started to clear out, including the receptionists and registration clerks. Still we sat in the waiting area, with three people ahead of us, the last patient having been called in around midnight, and with no promise of stitches anytime soon. By 2:30am, when conditions remained the same, we flew the coop and drove to beth isreal in hopes of getting stitched up before it had been too long. (I had it in my head that you had to get stitches within eight hours of the injury. I learned that you really have twenty-four hours.)
Upon arrival, I knew we were in better hands. The front desk was staffed, and not by a teeny-bopper talking on her cell phone, but by a professionally dressed and mannered security guard. The intake nurse was polite and considerate, asking if I needed any meds, and the registration tech (who wasn't wearing a very low cut top) took my information without acting silly with another employee. Definite improvement. After a brief wait (about 30 mins during which we found an atm and bought snacks from the vending machine) my name was called, and I got a bed in room 17. A nurse came in to introduce herself, and then another guy came in to irrigate the gash. My bandages had been on for so long that the gauze had stuck to the cut, but he pulled it off quick, and the bleeding had slowed considerably. (Thanks to my high platelet count, no doubt!) After a little longer, a very good looking doctor (will) came in to check it out (and of course I was at my scrappiest, having come from painting and moving that night), and decided that there was no nerve or tendon damage, but that it definitely needed at least one stitch. He shot me full of lidocaine, irrigated it again, and then it started bleeding pretty heavily again. I left with three blue stitches, a nice bruise from my knuckle down and some instructions. The funniest part was that the room I was in is usually used for psych patients. There's a garage type door that closes over all the equipment so it you're crazy, you can't hurt yourself with it. Will told us that when he heard there was a girl in room 17 who needed stitches, he thought it sounded about right, but when he came in to see me, he realized that I wasn't trying to kill myself- that, in fact, I wanted to live. That cracked us up enough to keep us awake until we got back at 5:50am. Thanks for keeping me company ben!