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Ben.face--;

From Telkoth.net

After MAGFest today, Zach dropped me off at the train station parking lot, just across the tracks from where I live. Usually this is not a problem, but this time I was eager to get home, get something to eat, and get to bed, so I was hurrying across... in the darkness I caught my foot on something and fell down, face-forward. I frantically searched for my glasses, found them, then cursed at my leg for hurting so much as I hobbled home. It wasn't until I got inside that I thought "my chin feels funny" and touched it, resulting in a very bloody hand.

Katie was off at The Dawning that night - a goth club thing with dancing and loud music - so I tried calling her a couple times as I rinsed off my jaw and checked out the 2" split running down it. It really wasn't bleeding that much, but with the amount of visible fat tissue, I decided that calling 911 was probably a good idea.

I've never called 911 before, so this was kind of interesting and nerve-wracking for me. I didn't really know if this was the sort of thing you should call 911 about, but I knew that my cut would probably need stitches, but I was also looking at it, and didn't feel particularly worried... I mean, it was just a cut on my face. At the same time, I knew I must have been acting weirdly somehow, because my cats were afraid of me.

Anyway, I gave the person on the telephone my name, and address, and number I was calling from, and all those things, and then they said they'd send an ambulance to pick me up. Hurrah.

I saw them pulling up, and went out to meet them, and some nice girl asked me if I was the one who called, and I said I was, and she had me get into the back of the ambulance and take a seat while she looked at the thing and asked me more questions. My name, what happened, did I black out, was I on any medications, or had a history of anything, or was allergic to anything, what day of the week it was... She also asked why my legs were shaking so much. I explained it was due to how freezing cold it was outside, and also that I felt kind of nervous. I wasn't really nervous about the wound, I don't think, but, you know, being in an ambulance, having never been in one before, and stuff... I dunno, I guess that atmosphere makes you worry that bad things are going on. Ambulances certainly have that association with "bad things are going on"...

They also asked which hospital I wanted to go to. I didn't even know there were two of them around. The choices were the UVa hospital, and some other hospital I don't remember. The UVa hospital I knew was only three blocks away, but I explained that I had no preference, and she was like "well, it's up to you," and but I said "I wouldn't even know why to prefer one of them" or something like that... now that I think about it, they probably aren't allowed to recommend any one hospital over the other, kind of like how the SPCA isn't supposed to recommend any one vet over another. Still, she recommended that the UVa hospital was closer, so I said "that's fine with me," and off we went.

When I got there, they wheelchaired me in, because they're supposed to wheelchair everyone in. Really, I could have walked, but my leg did hurt to walk on, having been scraped up nicely... I felt kind of silly being pushed in on a wheelchair with the only noticable wound being on my face, where they taped a piece of gauze.

Once inside the hospital, the waits were quite long. It was, at this time, about 1:00am. I'm sure there were not many doctors around, and those who were probably had things that were more important than some 23 year-old male with a "lac" on his face (laceration... it took me a couple times to realize that's what they meant). Mostly I was waiting in my little curtained area next to some woman who was watching something on TV with viruses and stuff. I really didn't mind waiting so much, except that I really wanted to be home, sleeping. Also, it's kind of obnoxious when they say "a doctor will be with you in a couple minutes" when what they actually mean is "a doctor will be with you in, I dunno, half an hour... maybe a little more..." Anyway, some doctor guy finally came in, probably no more than 10 years older than I was.

During my waiting around period, I realized another reason why the ambulance people (EMT, or something, yeah?) might ask you which hospital you prefer: you might prefer a hospital that isn't UVa's because UVa's would be full of n00b doctors. That was slightly concerning as I thought about it, but again, it was just some stitches, even I could tell that, and you don't have to go to med school to learn how to sew. Stitches aren't much more complicated. I've had them before on my middle finger, due to an accident involved with opening one of those damned cat food cans. They apply something to clean the wound, numb you, then sew.

Ah, and by this time Katie had gotten home and read my hurridly-scrawled note which explained that I would probably be at the hospital, since I'd called 911. I had been trying to call her, to let her know what was going on, but I imagine the music at The Dawning would easily drown out any cellphone ring. But I finally got a hold of her, and she came in sometime before the doctor finally arrived with a sammich, as per my request. I was quite hungry by this time, since I had only eaten some lunch before going to MAGFest, and it was now something like 2:00am.

And... right, so the doctor guy... some larger woman came in to check up on what was probably the n00b doctor attending to me, confirming that I'd need a few stitches, and assuring everyone, probably mostly me, that it'd sew together quite nicely. I think she used the word "beautiful" once, or something like it, which I'd laughed inwardly at.

Anyway, stitching it up went pretty well. I am, however, apparently difficult to numb. I think I may have heard the same thing from dentists, too, but it's been a while since they've had to numb me for anything, and I may be confusing numbness-difficulty with someone else... so anyway, he had to give me quite a few numbing shots to the right side of my jaw before I couldn't feel the pricking of his needle. Then he began stitching.

Getting stitches is always weird because, as they tell you, you won't feel any pain, but you do feel the pulling on nearby, perfectly-sensitive skin. It also made it somewhat hard to keep count of the number of stitches. Katie was watching mostly the whole time, and made some kind of comment about how it was clever how the knots are done on the stitches. She was also apparently keeping better count than the doctor, because when I asked how many stitches I had once he was done and she instantly told me 6 while the doctor counted before confirming the number. They then told me how to take care of it, and I asked about things like showering and such. They also told me to get the stitches taken out after a week, and told me I could go to my regular doctor (if I have one, though, I'm not aware of it), or back to UVa hospital. If I'd remembered to get the doctor's name, I would definitely go back to UVa hospital and ask for him specifically, but since I didn't, I'll figure it out when the time comes.

Anyway, I thanked him for stitching me up, and off I went, home at last, to finally pass out sometime after 3:00am. My knee still hurts, and my jaw looks stitched-up, and I don't think I'm going to MAGFest today, unfortunately. I did call my work and get next Saturday off, since my dad happens to be visiting that day. Er, I mean, because I'm getting my stitches removed, and, um, that'll take all day, and my dad's visiting me. I failed to mention that him visiting is completely unrelated, but I'm just a sly bastard like that. Or something.

Oh yeah! Here's a picture of my wound (click to see everything else in addition to my adam's apple e_e):