Massive Head Wound (warning - bloody pictures)
Okay, Doctor Baker says it's a superficial laceration. Still looked horrible, though. Some days, I am forced to curse my dumbosity. Yesterday's injury could have been avoided with a deeper duck.
I have a metal shed in my backyard. I'd gone into it to retrieve a shovel and misjudged the distance to duck, though ducking is just a habit with this shed, and I cut my head open. Way open.
At first, I had no idea how bad the injury might be, and I had goals. Sure, I'd mowed the front yard, but before the Summer heat kicked in fully, I was going to mow the back, too, and do some planter bed maintenance. I touched the top of my head gently with my glove, and there was a little blood. Darn, but no huge deal.
So, I took my hard-won shovel and headed to my green waste bin. We'd had a yard cleanup service out, and they'd stuffed those bins as tightly as possible. Unfortunately, that meant about half the volume didn't come out when the green waste truck came by. So, I was trying to disimpact that before dumping in my new mower bag of grass clippings.
Then I noticed my face felt wet. Huh. Probably not a good sign. (Hint: it really wasn't). Why, that wasn't a little bit of blood, that was a lot of blood.
Woops. I probably should have realized from the bit of tearing sound when I hit the shed edge, but I am a bit of an optimist.
But one can't simply leave a mess in the yard. I wasn't dying, so there was no cause to be irresponsible. I put away my shovel, ducking very low this time. I emptied my mower bag and put away the mower. I closed the bin up and headed inside.
Not wanting to make a mess on the carpet, I called to Ellie from the kitchen and asked her to go get her mom. She seemed to recognize the tone in my voice so she didn't even see me, she just booked it back to our room.
I took a selfie to see how bad it was. That is some red, red blood. Sorry I look rough, but I was just doing yard work. I shower afterward most Saturdays.
Well, darn. That probably means a trip to the hospital. Just to be sure, we rinsed things carefully to have a look. Washing a wound is often the first step anyway. Now I know not to do that for a deep laceration, and fortunately we didn't introduce water into this wound--we rinsed with the grain as it were rather than against it. Fortunately this one wasn't too bad. I also discovered I'm balder than I thought up there.
409 wasn't actually involved wwith this process. It was just hanging out in the background. We agreed that this was probably a matter for a doctor to have a look at. We told Ellie she didn't have to come, but she was interested. I also figured there would be needles, so that's good exposure therapy for her. She has a mild needle phobia. In contrast, I couldn't care less about getting jabbed by a professional.
So, we piled into the van and headed to the Emergency Department. I still had my good humor, so when asked, "Do you plan on hurting anyone else or yourself today?" I answered, "No. Well, not any more than I already have." The intake tech and I exchanged a few quips while Ellie grinned and confirmed I was not safe from sarcasm despite my injury.
"Are you in an abusive domestic situation?"
"No, my family never hurts me... Physically."
Ellie was thrilled when the tech asked Baymax-style, "On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate your pain?" I figured I was about a two. It really didn't hurt much, but more than one doctor has remarked that my pain tolerance seems to be quite high. I'm grateful for the little blessings in life. That's one of them. I can usually ignore most pain. That means when I do need pain medication, I don't have to stay on it long.
We went on back and did the usual weighing in like a prize fighter and getting my blood pressure checked (a bit elevated-funny how it always is at Emergency). Then I met Doctor Baker, DO. I had never met a DO before, so I had to look it up. It's a Doctor of Osteopathic Medicine. The training appears to be about the same, it's just a slightly different philosophy.
Dr. Baker was willing to joke with us. While waiting we'd fantasized about Baymax coming to help fix things. Baymax did not make an appearance. I joked about getting stapled back together. Staples did make an appearance.
That's right. I'm now Frankenstein's monster. Okay, not really, but I do have staples in my head. Evidently, they're great for pinning scalps back together. Want to see them? You're about to, so if you're squeamish, look away. I'll give you another paragraph to not look.
Ellie got to watch Dr. Baker provide local anesthesia to my scalp. I wasn't hurting too badly, but I'm guessing it makes holding still easier when the staple work gets done. Epsi joked that the doctor had missed my mouth as he worked to staple my wound closed. I am a talkative fellow.
An examination of the shed revealed that I'd left a small amount of scalp behind, which his why there's a bit of gap in places. There will be scarring there. Let me share the prettier of the two staple pictures since Epsi's angle looks less oogy. I plan to photograph it daily so I can examine it for signs of infection, but I won't share them all. I got to take home eight staples of my very own.
This will heal in a couple of weeks, full strength by three weeks, Dr. Baker shared when asked. I'm not allowed to get it wet for a couple of days (fortunately, I can shower pretty effectively without wetting that spot). Then I'm not allowed to submerge it until the staples come out. That's fine, I wasn't going to go swimming in any case.
I will feel dumb about this one for a long time, but it could have been much worse. I didn't hit hard enough to give myself a concussion, and Dr. Baker described the laceration as superficial. I also got a tetanus shot, which I was overdue for. I bet most people get theirs updated in a similar fashion.
While not the end of the world, this wasn't how I'd planned to spend my Independence Day week. Fortunately I do have the week off, so my coworkers won't be exposed to the fresh version.
I have a metal shed in my backyard. I'd gone into it to retrieve a shovel and misjudged the distance to duck, though ducking is just a habit with this shed, and I cut my head open. Way open.
At first, I had no idea how bad the injury might be, and I had goals. Sure, I'd mowed the front yard, but before the Summer heat kicked in fully, I was going to mow the back, too, and do some planter bed maintenance. I touched the top of my head gently with my glove, and there was a little blood. Darn, but no huge deal.
So, I took my hard-won shovel and headed to my green waste bin. We'd had a yard cleanup service out, and they'd stuffed those bins as tightly as possible. Unfortunately, that meant about half the volume didn't come out when the green waste truck came by. So, I was trying to disimpact that before dumping in my new mower bag of grass clippings.
Then I noticed my face felt wet. Huh. Probably not a good sign. (Hint: it really wasn't). Why, that wasn't a little bit of blood, that was a lot of blood.
Woops. I probably should have realized from the bit of tearing sound when I hit the shed edge, but I am a bit of an optimist.
But one can't simply leave a mess in the yard. I wasn't dying, so there was no cause to be irresponsible. I put away my shovel, ducking very low this time. I emptied my mower bag and put away the mower. I closed the bin up and headed inside.
Not wanting to make a mess on the carpet, I called to Ellie from the kitchen and asked her to go get her mom. She seemed to recognize the tone in my voice so she didn't even see me, she just booked it back to our room.
I took a selfie to see how bad it was. That is some red, red blood. Sorry I look rough, but I was just doing yard work. I shower afterward most Saturdays.
Well, darn. That probably means a trip to the hospital. Just to be sure, we rinsed things carefully to have a look. Washing a wound is often the first step anyway. Now I know not to do that for a deep laceration, and fortunately we didn't introduce water into this wound--we rinsed with the grain as it were rather than against it. Fortunately this one wasn't too bad. I also discovered I'm balder than I thought up there.
409 wasn't actually involved wwith this process. It was just hanging out in the background. We agreed that this was probably a matter for a doctor to have a look at. We told Ellie she didn't have to come, but she was interested. I also figured there would be needles, so that's good exposure therapy for her. She has a mild needle phobia. In contrast, I couldn't care less about getting jabbed by a professional.
So, we piled into the van and headed to the Emergency Department. I still had my good humor, so when asked, "Do you plan on hurting anyone else or yourself today?" I answered, "No. Well, not any more than I already have." The intake tech and I exchanged a few quips while Ellie grinned and confirmed I was not safe from sarcasm despite my injury.
"Are you in an abusive domestic situation?"
"No, my family never hurts me... Physically."
Ellie was thrilled when the tech asked Baymax-style, "On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate your pain?" I figured I was about a two. It really didn't hurt much, but more than one doctor has remarked that my pain tolerance seems to be quite high. I'm grateful for the little blessings in life. That's one of them. I can usually ignore most pain. That means when I do need pain medication, I don't have to stay on it long.
We went on back and did the usual weighing in like a prize fighter and getting my blood pressure checked (a bit elevated-funny how it always is at Emergency). Then I met Doctor Baker, DO. I had never met a DO before, so I had to look it up. It's a Doctor of Osteopathic Medicine. The training appears to be about the same, it's just a slightly different philosophy.
Dr. Baker was willing to joke with us. While waiting we'd fantasized about Baymax coming to help fix things. Baymax did not make an appearance. I joked about getting stapled back together. Staples did make an appearance.
That's right. I'm now Frankenstein's monster. Okay, not really, but I do have staples in my head. Evidently, they're great for pinning scalps back together. Want to see them? You're about to, so if you're squeamish, look away. I'll give you another paragraph to not look.
Ellie got to watch Dr. Baker provide local anesthesia to my scalp. I wasn't hurting too badly, but I'm guessing it makes holding still easier when the staple work gets done. Epsi joked that the doctor had missed my mouth as he worked to staple my wound closed. I am a talkative fellow.
An examination of the shed revealed that I'd left a small amount of scalp behind, which his why there's a bit of gap in places. There will be scarring there. Let me share the prettier of the two staple pictures since Epsi's angle looks less oogy. I plan to photograph it daily so I can examine it for signs of infection, but I won't share them all. I got to take home eight staples of my very own.
This will heal in a couple of weeks, full strength by three weeks, Dr. Baker shared when asked. I'm not allowed to get it wet for a couple of days (fortunately, I can shower pretty effectively without wetting that spot). Then I'm not allowed to submerge it until the staples come out. That's fine, I wasn't going to go swimming in any case.
I will feel dumb about this one for a long time, but it could have been much worse. I didn't hit hard enough to give myself a concussion, and Dr. Baker described the laceration as superficial. I also got a tetanus shot, which I was overdue for. I bet most people get theirs updated in a similar fashion.
While not the end of the world, this wasn't how I'd planned to spend my Independence Day week. Fortunately I do have the week off, so my coworkers won't be exposed to the fresh version.
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