3:27 p.m. - 2004-08-19
Getting Nailed Is Not Always a Good Thing
Getting Nailed Is Not Always a Good Thing
I believe I have previously mentioned that my apartment has hardwood floors. They look really cool, and are far easier to clean than carpets (when one has a very fluffy cat who upchucks a lot). However, there's one small problem with authentic, antique hardwood floors. That problem is nails. As in old, probably rusty nails.
I'm sure you can see where this story is going�.but it's still a good story anyway.
March or April, 2004. After spending Friday evening doing not one fucking productive thing and enjoying this tremendously, I decided to go to bed around 1 a.m. I always wear slippers or flip-flops in my apartment�.because of the nails. However, I thought I would be safe when I was two inches from my bed.
I was wrong.
As I went to turn back my covers and fluff the pillows, my big toe crept stealthily off the area rug and onto the bare floor under the bed�.and ran smack dab into a nail sticking out of the floor. Hard. As in bleeding.
I did the heel-hop to the bathroom for a Band-Aid in bare feet, hoping like hell I didn't step on another nail with the other foot. After I successfully stanched the bleeding, I started pondering exactly how long it HAD been since my last tetanus shot. After some brain wracking and mental math, the last one I remember was � in 8th grade. I'm now 30. 16, 17 years?
In a panic, I hop on the computer, hoping like hell BFRB will be up and convince me that it's ok to wait till morning (scant 6 hours away) to get a shot. However, she's sleeping. So, I type in "tetanus" on Google. The websites I read all say something along the lines of "if you cut yourself on something rusty, haul ass to the emergency room or they'll be feeding you through a tube in your cheek." Obligingly, I put on something besides pajamas and zip over to one of the nearby hospitals.
At first, I was thinking this whole visit to the ER would be relatively stress-free and quick. Sometimes, I'm such a retard.
So, I see the triage nurse, she removes the bandaid, examines the wound, takes my blood pressure, and sends me to the "insurance chick desk." I fork over the insurance card, fill out a complete medical history, and go back to the waiting room. After about an hour, they put me back in a room�right next door to a screaming child. The lights are so bright. I'm so tired. I try to read the book I brought, but catch myself nodding off.
After about another 45 minutes, a doctor arrives, accompanied by two handy med students. He examines the cut on my toe, asks me if I have diabetes or asthma or some real problem, and scribbles something. When I say that basically, I'm perfectly fine except for the impending case of tetanus, he mumbles something in broken English about a nurse being in shortly and strides off importantly with his students in tow.
20 more minutes. By now, it's 3:00 a.m. In four more hours, the minor emergency (which requires only a $10 copay) would be open. The nurse finally arrives, stabs me quickly with the needle, and runs back out muttering something about "paperwork." I get the impression I'm not supposed to leave. A note: after removal of the original band-aid, I never received any other treatment for my actual injury.
She shows back up with some instructions about following up with my doctor, and at 3:25, I head for home.
The doctor bill and hospital bill were almost $500�.and people wonder why our insurance costs so much.
