I can no longer say I’ve never had stitches. I’m now the proud owner of eight through my upper heal/lower rear ankle.
I woke up Saturday morning (late, very late), thinking what a great day it was going to be for a long run. (I’m afraid our brief cool spell is gone, gone, gone.) I got out of bed and went straight to the front door to get my newspaper. Hadn’t even had my morning coffee yet.
I squatted down as I opened the glass storm door so I could reach around and grab the paper. I kept it open with my body weight and reached with my right arm to get the paper. I turned, stood up rather quickly and the door swung back to hit my behind. The bottom door frame (which I’ve now discovered is losing its rubber padding to expose its metal base) caught my left foot and cut, very deeply, into my heal/ankle area. I screamed all kinds of expletives, grabbed onto a flemzy bookcase, causing one of my favorite pictures to fall. The glass from its frame shattered.
I ran to the bathroom, knowing I was bleeding. It was bad, really bad, y’all. I went back to the scene of the accident and just plopped down crying like a baby. I was home alone. Luckily, my cell phone was nearby. I called my mom; she was out of pocket. I called my aunt who was driving in from Texas; she was 40 miles out. I then called my other aunt, who also knows more about the medical community. It was Saturday, and I knew medical attention wasn’t an option. Her husband’s doctor’s clinic was open, so we planned for them to take me there.
They arrived, and with one look at my wound, they decided it best to take me to the ER. Off to the nearest ER we went, bloody towel wrapped around my foot. I brought a banana with me for the car ride. I hadn’t had breakfast either.
An ER tech saw me come in and wrapped my foot. I was happy to do away with the bloody towel. The wait wasn’t too bad to get back to a room. Once put in a private room, I was happy to find a flat screen TV playing one of my favorite movies, The Holiday. My aunt came back with me, and we had a nice time catching up and chatting one-on-one.
A nice-looking lady came in to examine the wound. I was lucky I didn’t sever my Achilles tendon, she said. Although, the thing was showing, the cut was so deep. Freaky, freaky. Stitches were a must, she confirmed. And a tetanus shot. Ow! Another lady came in to administer the shot. I made the mistake of looking at the needle length.
The doctor came in. “Wow, you know that’s about the worst place to have a cut,” he said. “No s***!,” I thought to myself. After the doc gave his approval, a physician’s assistant came in to sew me up. She’s apparently known around the place as the stitching expert. Lucky me; glad she was on the schedule that day. She was very nice, and made the process as pleasant as possible. The worst part was when she was poking around in my wound to give me the numbing medication. Thankful for that numbing potion, but wow, the administering of it hurt so bad I broke out in a sweat.
Two and a half hours and eight stitches later, I was sewn back together and ready to go home. They gave me crutches to help me get around, some antibiotics to help ward off infection and pain pills. I was ordered to do no activity until the stitches do their job and are removed. I can’t stand not being able to run, exercise, practice yoga. But I know it’s only temporary. And these stitches should do their job in 7-10 days. I’m almost half-way there.
Not the Saturday or week I was hoping for. But it could have been worse, a lot worse! I can be thankful for that and being forced to stop and rest more.
Watch out for those storm doors. You never know when one is gonna strike and knock you down!