My original idea for today’s post was what we did Saturday, which would intertwine with a part of my teenage years that I rarely speak of. A step inside a deep dark secret.

But after yesterday, that will definitely have to wait.

Yesterday morning was nothing spectacular. Caitlin woke up at 6 and Chris got her back down quickly. Kinley woke up at 730 and I tried for a half hour to get him back down to no avail, so I got up, angry with Chris because it was my turn to sleep in.


So I sat and played with Kinley until Caitlin woke up and then, around 1130, Chris did as well. Boring day. I was trying to be pissy, but it was difficult when Chris was being silly and funny. Ordered lunch to go, get it, bring it home and eat and put Caitlin down for a nap.

My sister went to the hospital last night to begin the induction process, so I am in charge of my two nieces and nephew until I don’t know when. We were unsure if my mom would be coming back to the house to stay or staying at the hospital with my sister, so we had planned a movie night for everybody with candy and pizza and popcorn and favorite sodas. We go to Target to get our supplies and some teething things for Kinley as well. The nights have been horrible, so we pick up a teething book, and a couple of teething rings, you know. The usual. We have to be back to my parents by 6 pm to pick up Baby Pat from his dad, so we hurry on our way and get home at 530.

We quickly begin to open packages of candy, separating treats, opening toys, etc. While Chris is creating their treat bucket, I take it upon myself to open the teething toys. Teething rings? Opened. Weird little vibrating twisty ball? Opened. Teething book? Hmm…well…all that it is, is a piece of card board attached to the actual teether by some zip ties. Hmm…I can’t rip the card board off, let me take a pair of scissors and cut the zip ties. I hate zip ties.

I dig through the kitchen until I am armed with a relatively heavy duty pair of scissors and begin to attempt to get the zip tie off. 540 pm, tragedy strikes. The scissors slipped and sliced my left index finger.

At first, there was little pain. Just an initial shock of “OH MY GOD I CUT MY FINGER” while jumping up and down and Chris asking if it was bleeding. I looked because I was unsure and, yes, it was. A lot. I run to the sink to start running it under water, but I second guess myself and wait until Chris walks over to look. Blood is getting everywhere. Chris, stricken with guilt that I got hurt (although it’s not his fault), announces he needs to take me to the hospital so I can get stitches and I nearly pass out from shock.

Fuck, this isn’t good because, as I mentioned, Baby Pat will be there in 15 minutes so we cannot leave yet. We ghetto rig the finger with some weird plastic gauze and electric tape and call my mom. No answer. Call my dad and explain the situation to him and he says he’ll try and get a hold of mom. Suddenly, I look at my finger and realize it’s turning purple. In his attempts to put pressure on it, he taped it too tight so we have to redo it with paper towels and electric tape, which the bleeding promptly starts seeping through and stains my hands red. He calls his parents to ask if they can take the two littles while I am getting looked at and I call my mom again. No answer again.

I start to panic and get angry and suddenly realize, I’m in a lot of pain. A lot more than I thought I was 10 minutes ago and I’m pissed because it’s an emergency and I can’t get a hold of anyone. Finally, the phone rings and it’s my mom. Chris tells her the situation while I add background commentary and he tells me to calm down and be quiet. That’s difficult when you feel like your finger needs to be amputated to end the pain. My mom questions (and doubts) the severity of the situation, which makes me even angrier. By the time Baby Pat arrives, I am about to Hulk Smash while Chris takes phone calls and gets kids in the car.

An hour later, I’m sitting in the waiting room of an empty ER/Urgent Care hidden away behind a Hooter’s, trying to not scream at the nurse wearing the Packer’s sweater to stop watching the fucking game and take care of the girl with the bleeding finger.

We finally get called back and the girls undo Chris’ handy work, clean it and inspect it. They won’t make the call on whether or not it needs stitches, they just make it bleed more. They leave and the doctor comes in and with seconds decides, yea, it’s gonna need stitches. Fuck. Me.

I’ll save you the gory details about how the meat of my finger looked like the brain of a small finger person falling out or how the Novocaine was incredible. At around 815, I walked out with a four stitches in my finger, prescription for Vicodin, and a bum left hand because it needs to be wrapped in a freaking finger sock at all times, except when I’m showering. And a lot more pain. Tons more freaking pain.

So my left hand is pretty much worthless and I have five kids today, two of which completely rely on me and shit in their pants. Imagine the awesomeness.

Also, please ignore the randomness of this. I’m in a lot of pain and can barely concentrate. And I can barely type so ignore typos please?


2 Responses

  1. ACK – I’m so sorry, that sounds like a HORRIBLE situation! I’m glad you and your finger made it through. Hope you’re feeling all finger-awesome soon!


    I totally had to google like 4 times to find you because for some reason I stopped remembering the right way to spell momma and was uselessly searching for Dino Mama!

    Yeah, I felt silly.

    • I actually asked the doctor if we could just cut it off so it wouldn’t happen again…he said sure, but I chickened out.

      Hehehe that explains that search then! You’re so goof!!

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