Scissors are Evil
My poor husband.
Yesterday, he managed to cut off a very large chunk of his thumb with a pair of scissors. It was one of those freak accidents that you can't imagine happening until it actually does. He called me at work and asked if he should go to the hospital. I said no because I did not realize how bad the cut actually was. When he got home, however, I realized that his injury was borderline serious.
Husband: I think I cut down to the fat, maybe the bone.
Me: You didn't cu....Jesus Christ, you did hit the fat!
Husband: Do you think that I should go to the hospital?
Me: Did you keep the tissue?
Husband: It's at work--on my desk.
Me: It's on your desk!? Well, did you at least put it in saline or spit to keep the tissue moist and somewhat viable?
Husband: No, it's kind of dried up and crispy. How was I supposed to know what to do with it?
Me: Don't you watch those survival shows? Nevermind, they can't put it back together now. If your eye ever falls out, you had better put it in a cup of spit.
Husband: WTF?...Do you think I should get stitches?
Me: I'm pretty sure you took too much tissue out...We could go to the lab, and I could try to stitch it up, but I don't think it will work.
Brother: I'm calling my friend, Male Nurse.
Me: I'm telling you, I don't think we can do anything now (note: I am not a medical doctor). We just have to make sure we keep it clean and look out for infections.
Husband: You want to sew it with your rat-brain-surgery kit?
Me: Stitches are stitches. It would hurt like a MF though.
Husband: I just want it to stop bleeding.
Me: I can fix that, but it will hurt.
Me: No, I was thinking curling iron or frying pan.
Brother: Male Nurse says they can't do anything to it. Just keep it wrapped and clean. Make sure to watch out for infection.
Me: Told you so. I'm going to the store to see what first-aid stuff they have (we have a doggie first aid kit, but not a human one).
Husband: As long as it stops bleeding, it will be OK.
Me: Brother, what did dad do when he cut his finger-tip off the last time?
Husband: The last time?
Brother: He sewed it back on himself, although it looks like shit now.
Me: Fingers grow back, although your thumbprint is going to be jacked-up. At least it's your left hand.
Husband holds up wounded right thumb with one eyebrow raised
Me: Alright, whatever. You know how bad I am at the whole left-right thing.
The rest of the night was quite funny to watch. The two of us kept fighting over who should cook dinner and pour the wine. Then we fought over whether or not alcohol actually thins your blood. We couldn't decide which of us had the most debilitating injury. I think lost thumb tip beats gimp ankle, but he didn't agree. Brother1 ended up taking over the kitchen, so it all worked out.
I really feel bad for him; it's a bad wound. At least I'm used to dealing with post-operative care, even if it is in rats.
He has a test today for a job with a big financial firm. It's is going to suck answering all those questions with a jacked-up thumb. Poor thing.
I'm excited for him, though. I know he's going to blow them away. Someday that man is going to realize how brilliant he is, and then I'm going to lose all of my power. At least he'll be happy, and that will make me happy.
If the job thing doesn't work out, maybe he can get disability pay. Just kidding...