alternately titled: dinner did not go according to plan
So, I made the filling for my Chicken and Broccoli Braid the Tuesday I posted about it, and I was getting ready to cut the pastry dough. I got out my nice, sharp, Pampered Chef pizza cutter and gripped it with my thumb and index finger to take the plastic cover off of it. I'll spare you the gory details, but the next thing Adrian heard was me gasping, "Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh." I knew as soon as it happened that I was headed to the ER that night for stitches, although Adrian convinced me to apply pressure for a while to see if I could stop the bleeding. An hour later, we asked each other how long a wound has to bleed before it officially needs stitches, as neither of us knew. Toddler 411 to the rescue! The book has a section entitled "Is it broken and does it need stitches?" Apparently, we should have only waited 10 minutes. Oops.
So, off I headed to the ER. Actually, off I headed to the Medical Aid Unit (MAU) right across town. This place was a huge blessing, as it is only about 5 minutes away, whereas the real ER is nearly half an hour. I signed in (to the best of my ability) and began to wait. 2 1/2 hours later (good thing I wasn't bleeding heavily!) I got called back, examined and patched up. I was pretty terrified, as I've never had stitches before (except after childbirth, or so they told me; I was pretty out of it and can't remember much). But it was nothing. Less than nothing, as he numbed my entire thumb, so it even made the cut stop hurting. I went home and climbed into bed, expecting a little tingling and maybe some soreness, but nothing I couldn't handle. After all, I endured several days of labor. Everything else is a piece of cake.
I woke up at 4 am in tears. The anesthesia had mostly worn off, and so had the ibuprofen I took before bed. Surprise! It was seriously painful. A couple more ibuprofen took the edge off, though, so I could get Lyndon up and start our day. Except then I was faced with the prospect of changing a (cloth!) diaper without a right thumb (or forefinger, really, as I had injured that, too). Have you ever tried to live a day without your dominant thumb? Ri.dic.u.lous. Never again will I take any of my appendages for granted.
But life went on, and we made it to Friday, when Adrian could take a day off to help me. Little did we know what awaited us then... MAU trip number two! (to be continued...)