Being in an ambulance when you're still fully capable of being mobile is not fun. Answering the same questions for the 4th or 5th time not withstanding, I was not particularly happy to be strapped into a gurney on the ride to the hospital. From about the time I first sat up until the time I got home from the hospital I felt pretty good. Adrenaline and endorphins are a wonderful thing. I didn't feel like a candidate to be brought to the ER in an ambulance. If the EMT from South Merrick hadn't said that I needed stitches, I'd have been tempted to finish the ride, or at least ride home. (Granted that would have been a terrible decision, but that's how I felt after standing up for a while.)
They took me to NUMC which is the hospital I always thought you wanted to go to if you were ever shot or stabbed, but not where you want to go if you aren't actually bleeding to death. Granted I was bleeding, if not critically, so I didn't have too much to say on the issue. At the hospital I was wheeled in on the aforementioned gurney into the ER. An intake nurse came and yet again asked me my name, date of birth, age, address, allergies, medications, history of illness, whether I was an alcoholic, if someone at home was beating me or taking advantage of my money/food/housing... She shooed away the hospital administrator who was there to get the same information- for billing purposes- at least until she was done with me.
It didn't take too long for them to get me onto a triage bed in the ER. They even let me climb from the gurney to the bed all by myself, since I was so antsy not to be strapped in anymore; I'm not quite ready for the nut-house. My Partner in Crime hadn't made it to the hospital yet, and neither had my parents, who he had called when he got home. Everyone in the ER was incredibly nice, which was not what I was expecting at all. I guess I assumed that everyone would be a bit more gruff than social and chatty.
In the ER I was seen by a PA named Laura, who was possibly the most adorable thing ever. She checked out my chin and gave my neck a once-over; I needed stitches (of course) and a CT scan as a precaution, making sure my jaw didn't have any micro-fractures from the impact. I was left alone for a while, waiting for a slot for the CT scan and the sutures, and for my parents and Partner in Crime to get there.
Up until this point, I hadn't had any opportunity to see what exactly I had done to my chin. The South Merrick EMT, who had gotten a good look at it said 'It isn't that bad. Just needs a couple stitches'. I believed him. The mirror over the sink in the ER was too much of a temptation to pass up though. I slipped my sandals on (I had brought them to the beach with me to keep sand out of my road shoes) and made my way across the room. I pulled the gauze away and it stuck a little where the blood had started to dry. I craned my neck-it had already started to tighten up- to see the gaping wound on my chin.
It was certainly worse than I expected- deeper, and longer, and much redder- despite the bleeding subsiding.
Shortly after, my parents and Partner in Crime arrived. My parents were worried about me, but finding me in unnaturally high spirits they calmed down. My mother, filled with love and morbid curiosity, asked to see my chin, grimaced at the open wound, and then proceeded to laugh at me for doing that to myself. It took my Partner in Crime far longer to get to the hospital than I expected. He took the long way and then got turned around in the bowels of NUMC. He had gotten a ride back to my house for himself and our bikes from another Wantagh EMT in an SUV. One of my biggest worries about the whole incident was having him drive my car. No one drives my car- so much so that at the end of this whole ordeal, I drove myself home from the hospital.
After everyone arrived two things happened at once. I needed to go for a CT scan and I needed to get a tetanus shot. In walks a nurse with the tetanus shot just after Laura, the PA walked in with a specimen bag for all my jewelry. For anyone who knows me, or can see from my profile photo, I have quite a few piercings, most of which I have never removed. They are all the original captive bead rings that I had them pierced with. So there I am, struggling to take out all my jewelry- sans pliers- as a nurse stands there with a needle in her hand ready to stick me.
It was a little surreal.
Then, for a few moments my mother had the syringe as the nurse- a slightly alternative-looking girl- tried to help me get one of my cartilage piercings out. After struggling with it for a bit, I finally managed to get all the piercings out of my head and I braced myself for the tetanus shot. Guess what! A tetanus shot doesn't hurt... until the next day.
This whole time, I was still wearing my work-out clothes from earlier in the day- thankfully they were black, otherwise I would have looked like Jack the Ripper. Apparently Under Armour doesn't look enough like a hospital gown so before heading over to radiology (in a wheelchair- Did I tell you how antsy I was in the gurney? Yeah, same feeling with the wheelchair) Laura put one over my clothes.
I don't think I have ever been so uncomfortable in a piece of clothing before. I'm convinced that hospital gowns are made not just for sick people but to make you feel like a sick person. A hospital gown makes you want to shuffle your feet and hunch your shoulders and eat pureed food. It isn't the kind of garment that makes you want to get better, wearing one makes you feel like you're going to die (possibly of embarrassment). I spent the rest of the time I was in the ER trying to rearrange it so it wasn't quite so uncomfortable/unflattering/annoying.
Radiology was a ball of laughs. No not really. The CT scan was uneventful. I got a garbled correction directed my way once for fidgeting. By this point my knees had swollen pretty bad and were starting to ache. Same goes for the back of my neck and my chin. I had already been at the hospital for a couple of hours at this point and I really just wanted to get my stitches and go home.
While I was in radiology the PA told my supporters that only one could stay while she sewed me up. While my mom would have been the natural choice, if she had stayed my father would have stayed, and my Partner in Crime never would have left the hospital without me. I'm sure both my parents were disappointed that I didn't pick them to stay with me, but then again, I don't think either of them would have been willing to videotape Laura as she sewed up my chin.
This lovely video, shot by my Partner in Crime is what happened next. (Set to the overly dramatic techno sounds of Mona Lisa Overdrive.)
I honestly can't say that there was really a 'bad part' about the stitches themselves. Laura had me convinced that injecting the lidocaine would be some sort of horrible ordeal of stinging and burning. It barely hurt except for the one shot right in the middle of the wound. Immediately after she finished I started bleeding like a stuck pig- good for my healing, bad for trying to stitch up the wound. The lidocaine did it's job though and I could barely feel the stitches until the end. For the last two stitches the anesthetic had begun to wear off but I was so anxious to get home I didn't feel like having her bother with any more lidocaine. I've paid enough people to stab me with needles that I can sit through a couple more for a good reason.
Stitched up, tired and very ready to go home, all that was left was discharge papers. I signed my life away and was off through the bowels of NUMC back to the car. Our gorgeous beach day had turned dreary and rainy and made me not feel too bad about spending my afternoon in the ER. After a quick stop at Panera for soup- since the sandwich we had planned to eat at the beach was now out of the question- I made it home, tired, still covered in blood, sweat and hospital stench.
I'm proud of myself that I made it through the whole ordeal calm, cool and collected. I was amazed that so many people were so helpful and amazing throughout the whole thing. I'm lucky that I wasn't hurt worse, considering how I fell I was asking for a broken jaw, a concussion, or worse. I'm also lucky that my father's freaking out was confined to driving like a madman to the hospital and pacing once he got there and that my Partner in Crime kept his wits about him after watching me go face first into the concrete.
I'm alright.
That's the long and the short of it. 6 stitches, bumps and bruises, but I'm alright.
Glad to hear that all in all you made it out alright. Wear your war wounds with pride!
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