holy bloody fuck || 30.09.03 at 06:46
my knee hurts. You'd think that I'd have done something like this before, tripped over an upturned root or stumbled down an incline whilst out on the trails, but no...it has to happen at 5:15 am yesterday morning, in my uncle's driveway.
One minute I was standing by the car, the next, I was down for the count, or so my uncle says. Those bloody adidas sport slides are as unstable as that section of driveway that caused me to lose my balance and tumble down. I did manage to hold on to my keys, id case and mobile though. I picked myself up, and once inside the car only complained about my ripped pajama bottoms, until my uncle flashed his torch on my knee and said we'd better go back inside.
To me, it looked like a big chunk of my leg, just below the bend in my knee was missing. I sat there terrified as my uncle, and his fellow paramedic house guest looked over my knee, cleaned it up and decided what they were going to do with it.
Diagnoses: trip to the emergency room.
And the only thing I was in hysterics over was my uncle, who was going to be late for work.
The pain wasn't that bad, it only stung and my knee looked a lot worse than it actually felt. The doctor's made fun of me, and I wouldn't be surprised if my dad knows about this by now. I believe the technical (?) term the doctor used was filleted, I filleted my knee. Bloody great. I sat there almost in awe as the doctor injected the site with a numbing fluid and stitched me up. My uncle, the paramedic, who hates needles, had to look the other way. Whilst he was cutting the fat underneath my knee, so he could pull the two sections of skin back together to stitch, I was reminded of the urban legend show I saw a few weeks ago. There was a story about a man who received a home liposuction, which caused his untimely death, which is apparently true, I told him that watching him cut my skin reminded me of this for some reason. The doctor removed a fat cell from my knee and said; "There, now you can say you've had liposuction. I was pretty disgusted by this. The ER trip wasn't actually that long, and 20 stitches later (6 on the inside, 14 on the outside), I was back on the road.
Of course, I did take my sweet arse time actually getting to work. I went home, stopped for coffee, read the funnies and ate a bowl of cereal before actually driving to work, which was kind of nice.
The rest of the day was a pain in the arse. I didn't tell too many people about it at work, and refused to take pain killers for it, which made my coworker cringe immensely. She told me she'd take care of my pain management and let me know when I was in pain, i.e. she'd take the pain killers for me, if only it worked that way, eh?
I figure I have a lifetime to get over the "My niece brought my work home to me" cracks, not to mention the "juice" aka "douche" comments from my aunt. Then there was the down on my knees comment from a coworker, which was in poor taste since I was with my uncle when it happened. My only concern is this weekend.
I'm due to drive up to Boston to finalize moving, and then there's Bill.