"Ooh lady, do you know your foot's bleeding?"
I went to the hospital today because I jammed a giant piece of wood into my heel (not on purpose). After jamming this 6 inch splinter into my foot, an inordinate amount of blood began spurting from my heel, more blood than I even thought could be in a foot. What I’m saying to you is it was gross.
The last time I had seen the amount of blood coming from a wound on my body was when my dog bit my nose. When that happened, my blind dog bit my nose (which is a story for another time) and I blacked out a little from the pain. I got up from the floor and looked at my mom and said “Mom…” She turned, with a terrified face and screamed. I put my hands to my nose and then looked at them like people do in movies where they touch the wound after getting shot. There was blood all over my hands. I stumbled a bit (see, movies do tell the truth) and then grabbed onto a computer chair, which turned as I grabbed it, sending me spinning to the floor.
This time, blood was coming out of my foot in a manner where it seemed a prop guy had rigged a gag blood tube. I wrapped my foot in an entire roll of Bounty paper towels and mailing tape also known as a single woman’s tourniquet. I then put this in a plastic bag. I don’t know why I did that part. I just figured that might look more normal than the plain blood paper towels packaged to my leg. I thought about calling an ambulance. But decided against it for the following reason.
The night before, I had thrown a bachelorette party for a friend. As part of the bachelorette party, we had a sleep over back at my apartment for the bride where we ate popcorn and swedish fish and watched Pride & Prejudice. This is the moment I confirm to men that your stereotypes of women are true and accurate - never let a woman give you shit for them ever again. Anyways, the girls in the bridal party decorated my apartment for the bride which consisted of High School Musical balloons and cut out photos from Modern Bride magazine. My walls were covered with bride pictures and Zac Efron. So this would be the scene for a paramedic: A single woman, with a bloody bounty foot, with old swedish fish, Bridget Jones Diary films spread out on the floor, surrounded by Bride pictures…
So there I was hobbling down the street with a shopping bag of bloody foot. Luckily there’s an equipped hospital with an ER on my block, about 6 blocks away actually. I thought about actually stopping for a coffee at the 7/11 because I was really tired, but I realized that was most likely because I had lost a good amount of blood. Three people thankfully pointed out that there was something wrong with my foot. One man eating a twist ice cream cone asked, “Ooh lady, do you know your foot’s bleeding?” I replied, “Which one?”
I entered the lobby of the hospital and asked where the ER was. The woman looked down at my bloody bagged foot and rushed me into a room. She asked me “Did someone shoot you?” and I sadly replied, “No.” I paused and then said “I did this to myself.” A terrified, uncomfortable look crossed her face. The look my mom had given be right before screaming about my bloody nose. I realized… “Oh no no, I didn’t cut or shoot myself.” A phew face from her. She really didn’t want to have that be a part of her day. I revealed it was a giant splinter. She unwrapped my Key Foods Grade A butchered foot and had a doctor come in. The doctor, named Dr. Rudin Rebstein (which I’m still convinced is a moniker to hide a past identity) pulled out this 6 inch wooden shiv from my foot. He asked me what kind of place I was living in. I thought back to the bride pictures everywhere. I told him the building was very well maintained, but this corner of my closet doorway had been splintering for a bit. I should have been more careful. He nodded. A phew face from me. No one will have to see the bride pictures.
He cleaned the wound and literally put a simple gauze patch on it and taped it to my foot. I joked, “I still had some bounty left over if he wanted to conserve gauze.” He replied, with no hesitation, “We’re a hospital so we’re full of gauze.” Oh okay.
As I waited in the outpatient room, where no doubt all the other people had answered yes to the question “Did someone shoot you?”, Law & Order SVU was playing. I wondered to myself, there has to be something better to put on in a hospital, that doesn’t remind people of how they got to the hospital or that doesn’t involve children being mollested. I signed the release forms and was out the door.
I couldn’t believe that 3 1/2 hours had passed. Over a glorified splinter. I returned to my apartment still full of bride pictures and pop corn bags and Reese Witherspoon movies. I was so tired from the ordeal and the tetanus shot or whatever shot I was given that I passed out on the pile of pillows from the sleepover the night before. I woke up hours later feeling as though I was in a Roman colosseum surrounded by all these judging eyes, wearing bridal gowns. There I was in the center, wounded, wearing one gauze patched bandage (from a hospital FULL of them) and I thought to myself, I can never tell my mom this happened.
