My Childhood Story
One day I was washing a cup. I had prior noticed that the cup had a fracture in it. But I never thought that it was going to be a big problem. While I was washing, the cup broke. I thought that the cup had just broken, and nothing else had happened (as I didn't feel anything). On my way to get something to clean up the glass with, I saw the gash. My first reaction was pure terror, as I screamed. I used to scream a lot in that time to be silly but I think all who heard could tell that I was in serious trouble. The screaming woke my 23 year old sister Shana up, as she ran downstairs to see my hand bleeding profusely. Her first response was to lead me upstairs where she doused the cut with water. At this point, I had stopped screaming, but I had begun to cry. She then wrapped my finger in a hand towel. She had called my dad, so he was outside waiting to take me to the hospital.
When we reached the hospital, we waited for about an hour. Then, after taking my diagnostics, they took me to an operating room. A male nurse struggled to cut the hand towel, as it was duck taped on to my cut. When he got it off, and my father saw my cut, he (being squeamish) went out of the room. The nurse brought in a alcohol cleaning solution, and I dipped my hand in. because it was alcohol, I automatically assumed that it was going to hurt. The nurse, rather humorously, told me that he'd make sure it didn't hurt. But it didn't. Then the nurse called in a hand doctor, and a plastic surgeon. After looking at my hand, they agreed that they could operate at the moment. The nurse injected my hand with a painkilling drug called Novocain, and the doctor made jokes, one saying that he could step on my hand and I wouldn't feel it. Then, they removed a blood vessel, and began stitching. I remember the doctors talking about the type of stitch they should use. The plastic surgeon taught the hand doctor the mattress stitch. Then they wrapped my hand, and told my dad that I had to visit the hand doctor's office on that Wednesday. I didn't go to school for three days.
I was so happy during those three days. I didn't have to worry about homework, because at first, I couldn't move my finger at all. As time went on, however, when I actually could do my homework, I just blamed my finger, and said that I couldn't.
When I went to the doctor's office, he removed the bandage and gave me a metal finger brace to stop me from bending my finger. When I went to school the next day, everyone was interested in my finger. They didn't tease me, or laugh, I guess they were just interested in the huge stitch going down my finger. Again, I was happy at school, because I didn't have to do class work, seeing as how I couldn't bend my finger.
Later on,my finger bcecame infected. There was a rather large opening in it. It was especially disgusting, because there was this jam-like white liquid oozing from that opening( I later learned that it was called pus). Then I went to the doctor again. He started squeezing it, and at one point, he even stuck a pair of scissors into the cut. I remember the excruciating pain. After that was over, the cut began healing quickly. But I will always have the scar to remind me of those two weeks of fun, pain, and horror.