It seems silly not to blog about my Friday mis-adventure, and yet...somehow...self-absorbed to do so. I'm not sure why that is. I have a blog. It's largely about me. There's a certain degree of self-absorption that's undeniable there. Maybe it's more a matter of embarassment. Although...if I were that embarassed, I'd probably not have Facebooked about it from the ER.
Maybe it's just hard to know where to begin. The night had gone so well. Inspite of the crazy storm raging outside, my sister's birthday party was a smashing success. Lots of friends and family, great photos from long ago (and some more recent -- I'd totally forgotten that Obama joined us for the Wisconsin trip!), yummy food, good drinks. Even my toast went well. We had fun. Most importantly, Julie had fun! If only the night had ended on that note...
I can't honestly say whether I tripped on a riser, or slipped on the wet entry hall, as we entered her house, and I headed upstairs to go collect Riley. All I know is that chin met wood, and it wasn't pretty. After the jolt, I immediately put my hand up and felt the blood dripping down. I scampered the rest of the way up the stairs and into the bathroom. One quick glance told me all I needed to know. Grabbed some tissues and started applying pressure, then made my way back downstairs to break the news to my sisters and Di.
According to my brother-in-law, I managed all the above rather quietly. And Karen, Julie and Di were so busy bringing stuff in from the car, they had no idea it had even happened. So my announcement to them that we needed to head to the ER was met with no small amount of bewilderment. They wanted to see my chin. I told them no, they didn't! Finally, it sank in, and Di and Karen shifted into EMS mode, while Julie graciously agreed to keep Riley for the night.
Off to St. Mary's we went. Was our lucky night, I suppose - midnight on a Friday night, I'd expect the ER to be packed. But it was a ghost town. They took my info and vitals, and got me into an exam room in just a few minutes. Took a closer look, cleaned out the wound, gave me the option of calling in a plastic surgeon (with the caveat that it'd make for a looooooonnnnggg wait.) Given the location (just on the underside of my chin), I decided to chance it and just settle for good old fashioned stitches. I'm not entirely sure why a tetanus shot was necessary, but apparently, it was.
Took a little while for my seamstress to arrive, but eventually, she did. I missed this at the time -- probably because my face was draped with a lovely blue veil for the procedure -- but, according to Karen, her hands shook like she was on an espresso bender. If that impacted her stitching, I'm sure my Frankenchin will attest to it. One thing I learned that night: Diane is hardcore. She stood behind the doc and watched all seven stitches go in. Bleh. I love my friends, but I've no desire for visuals like that!
Speaking of visuals...forgive me for the pic. It didn't seem right to blab about it all and not save a glamour shot of the whiskers for posterity. (You'd think in this day and age, they'd offer you more than just basic black for stitches -- I could've rocked hot pink threads!) In any event, the stitches are slated to be yanked tomorrow. Hopefully, all that will remain is a thin red line. On the chin, anyway. My arm still feels like I got kicked by a horse, compliments of the tetanus shot. And there's a lovely bruise the size of a small orange on my left thigh. (Those stairs pulled no punches!)
A $200 co-pay is a rather stiff price to pay for a blog topic. Still...it could have been much worse. I broke no teeth; didn't bite my tongue. And someday, in the not-too-distant future, will have only a minor scar to show for it all. Still, I'm not sure I'll ever hear "chin up!" and think of it quite the same way ever again.