A Stitch in...
Those of you with delicate sensibilities may want to avert your eyes for the duration of this post...
Monday was Labor Day. And I, like many other hard-working laborers, did not have the benefit of the day off. I did, however, take advantage of holiday pay and another, oft avoided benefit...worker's comp.
Most costume shops are rife with tales of minor needle induced injuries. Usually such tales involve a sewing machine needle, an industrial machine and a trickier than usual project. I had been fortunate enough to never have encountered such injuries...only the horror stories that linger.
Monday ended that. And unfortunately it was my finger that was on the receiving end of the needle's prick.
My sewing injury was not of the common mold.
Pierced. Through and through the index finger of my right hand. Hand sewing, no less. Sewing elastic onto a pair of satin shoes at that.
One might suspect a such an injury to have involved a heftier shoe...say one made of leather. Or a more hearty implement, one crafted and honed solely to pierce flesh...such as a leather needle.
No. This delicate satin shoe decided to offer too much resistance for the ordinary no. 9 sharp needle. My finger offered the path of least resistance.
This still may sound a bit mundane for a sewing injury...once one gets over the initial reaction of seeing or hearing about a needle protruding through both ends of one's finger.
Did I mention the needle entered my finger eye first? Through the finger nail of the index finger on the other hand?
In the uncompromisable moment of shock and sudden, searing pain, I couldn't quite register what had just occurred. The needle had gone through something, and not the shoe...tenacious little satin slipper...
I suspected I had pierced my fingernail again. It actually happens often to me, as I favor using that extension of keratin superior and less cumbersome than most thimbles. And my nails, despite my profession, are often quite long.
But that did not explain the throbbing pain in my left index figner...the one I had used to add an extra oomph behind the right index fingernail...
Nor did that explain the slight throbbing in my left finger.
I looked down and felt all the color drain from my face. I was stitched to my project. The hand sewing needle extended beyond both sides of a puncture. The eye had entered the pad, and exited on the back side...taking the thread with it, of course. That thread...that thick brown silamede, was thread through my finger as well...alongside the embedded needle. Traveling out of the pad of my left finger, the thread connected me, through the finger nail on my other hand, mind you...to the shoe. I was still attached.
Oh god, that was the worst part.
I stood dumbfounded at the strength is had take to FORCE A NEEDLE EYE FIRST THROUGH MY FINGERNAIL AND FINGER and stared. Nano seconds stretched before me like months. The space of a few inches between my finger, the fingernail and the shoe eventually registered. I needed to either scoop up the whole hot mess and find assistance, yank the thing out myself or find a way to cut myself free...and least from the shoe. The needle was adamant about not going anyway anytime soon.
A cumbersome pair of scissor lay a short distance away. At this point any scissors would have been cumbersome, and any distance too far. Careful not to bump the fresh injury or inadvently pull on the thread, snipped myself free and went to find my boss.
Or anyone with digits capably of dailing a phone.
I work in a room by myself. In mymore morbid moments, I occasionally daydream about scenerios were I've been injured, unable to access help and curious how long it would take for a co-worker to happen upon me.
Luckily this Labor Day several of my colleagues were stitching away on their own projects in the next workroom over. I managed the door. Walked past two who offered nary a glance. I entered my boss; office (oh how glad I was she had come to work on the holiday as well) and uttered the obvious.
"I have a needle in my finger"
It took a second for her to register what I said. And a moment longer to register the sight before her. After a quick call to see if the clinic across the street was open on the holiday (it wasn't), she grabbed her keys and we headed out the door to another urgent care, anticipating a two hour wait.
It took nearly half an hour to be "processed" and signed in. My request for water after checking in was a terse set of directions to the bubbler. The woman hovering over the admin's shoulder offered a sympathic glance and a few words of encourgement about how well I was holidng up.
On second thought...I should have fainted. Shock is common among such penitrating injuries, right?
My request for ice to numb the finger was likewise dismissed. No ice was to be had. At this point the adrenalin still raged and no pain registered. I think I mostly wanted a touch of sympathy. My boss heaved a bewildered sigh at the direction the check in station and stalked off to the pharmacy to procure anything cold they may be selling. The pharmacist handed over an ice pack, gratis, without a second thought.
I tried to read, but the words just blurred together. I moment of cognestian suggested I inform my husband I was at urgent care instead of work, least we not be back the theater in time for him to pick me up at the day's end. I blurry photo served as an explination.
Almost an hour had passed since piercing myself. The waiting room lay about my shoulders heavily.
Finally my name was called by a nurse wanted to take my vitals. Blood pressure normal, temperature normal. White as a sheet, but coherent. Thankfully, instead of ferreting me back into the waiting room, she bumped me up the priorities list and saw me to a room.
A nurse stopped by with water and saltines to help me regain some color. The doctor popped in and was impressed the the strength I must have had to force the needle so cleanly the wrong way though my own flesh. He ordered an x-ray to ensure it hadn't hit the bone. I could have told him that. My hands may be strong, but they certainly are not that strong.
But who's to turn down the chance to have an x-ray of a sharp foreign object in an appendage?
The doctor apologized for the need to pierce my flesh twice more...because the sewing needle wasn't enough that day. And that bastard syringe...stabbing me twice...registered far more pain than actually injury had aroused. Never offer me the opportunity to swear. I have a foul, foul mouth when given the liberty. At least the young doctor was highly amused.
I was escorted down to x-ray after the anesthetic had taken hold. Three quick pictures and I was walked back to my room to wait for the images to process and for the doctor to return.
The needle had made its home in my flesh for near two hours by this point. Imagine this ordeal had it included the full estimated hour and a half wait in the lobby...
The doctor returned with some amazing x-rays and a pair of pliers. Turning away I could barely registered that he moved my hand, let only yanked the accursed piece of metal out. That was it? Barely even a drop of blood spread on the gauze he pressed to my finger. He offered the needle back. But not the x-rays. I opted to take home no souvenir.
My finger bandaged, paperwork filed, I filled my small prescription and waited for Ross.
Now a few days later two small red spots barely mark the ordeal. But photo and gruesome story remain.
Monday was Labor Day. And I, like many other hard-working laborers, did not have the benefit of the day off. I did, however, take advantage of holiday pay and another, oft avoided benefit...worker's comp.
Most costume shops are rife with tales of minor needle induced injuries. Usually such tales involve a sewing machine needle, an industrial machine and a trickier than usual project. I had been fortunate enough to never have encountered such injuries...only the horror stories that linger.
Monday ended that. And unfortunately it was my finger that was on the receiving end of the needle's prick.
My sewing injury was not of the common mold.
Pierced. Through and through the index finger of my right hand. Hand sewing, no less. Sewing elastic onto a pair of satin shoes at that.
One might suspect a such an injury to have involved a heftier shoe...say one made of leather. Or a more hearty implement, one crafted and honed solely to pierce flesh...such as a leather needle.
No. This delicate satin shoe decided to offer too much resistance for the ordinary no. 9 sharp needle. My finger offered the path of least resistance.
This still may sound a bit mundane for a sewing injury...once one gets over the initial reaction of seeing or hearing about a needle protruding through both ends of one's finger.
Did I mention the needle entered my finger eye first? Through the finger nail of the index finger on the other hand?
In the uncompromisable moment of shock and sudden, searing pain, I couldn't quite register what had just occurred. The needle had gone through something, and not the shoe...tenacious little satin slipper...
I suspected I had pierced my fingernail again. It actually happens often to me, as I favor using that extension of keratin superior and less cumbersome than most thimbles. And my nails, despite my profession, are often quite long.
But that did not explain the throbbing pain in my left index figner...the one I had used to add an extra oomph behind the right index fingernail...
Nor did that explain the slight throbbing in my left finger.
I looked down and felt all the color drain from my face. I was stitched to my project. The hand sewing needle extended beyond both sides of a puncture. The eye had entered the pad, and exited on the back side...taking the thread with it, of course. That thread...that thick brown silamede, was thread through my finger as well...alongside the embedded needle. Traveling out of the pad of my left finger, the thread connected me, through the finger nail on my other hand, mind you...to the shoe. I was still attached.
Oh god, that was the worst part.
I stood dumbfounded at the strength is had take to FORCE A NEEDLE EYE FIRST THROUGH MY FINGERNAIL AND FINGER and stared. Nano seconds stretched before me like months. The space of a few inches between my finger, the fingernail and the shoe eventually registered. I needed to either scoop up the whole hot mess and find assistance, yank the thing out myself or find a way to cut myself free...and least from the shoe. The needle was adamant about not going anyway anytime soon.
A cumbersome pair of scissor lay a short distance away. At this point any scissors would have been cumbersome, and any distance too far. Careful not to bump the fresh injury or inadvently pull on the thread, snipped myself free and went to find my boss.
Or anyone with digits capably of dailing a phone.
I work in a room by myself. In mymore morbid moments, I occasionally daydream about scenerios were I've been injured, unable to access help and curious how long it would take for a co-worker to happen upon me.
Luckily this Labor Day several of my colleagues were stitching away on their own projects in the next workroom over. I managed the door. Walked past two who offered nary a glance. I entered my boss; office (oh how glad I was she had come to work on the holiday as well) and uttered the obvious.
"I have a needle in my finger"
It took a second for her to register what I said. And a moment longer to register the sight before her. After a quick call to see if the clinic across the street was open on the holiday (it wasn't), she grabbed her keys and we headed out the door to another urgent care, anticipating a two hour wait.
It took nearly half an hour to be "processed" and signed in. My request for water after checking in was a terse set of directions to the bubbler. The woman hovering over the admin's shoulder offered a sympathic glance and a few words of encourgement about how well I was holidng up.
On second thought...I should have fainted. Shock is common among such penitrating injuries, right?
My request for ice to numb the finger was likewise dismissed. No ice was to be had. At this point the adrenalin still raged and no pain registered. I think I mostly wanted a touch of sympathy. My boss heaved a bewildered sigh at the direction the check in station and stalked off to the pharmacy to procure anything cold they may be selling. The pharmacist handed over an ice pack, gratis, without a second thought.
I tried to read, but the words just blurred together. I moment of cognestian suggested I inform my husband I was at urgent care instead of work, least we not be back the theater in time for him to pick me up at the day's end. I blurry photo served as an explination.
Almost an hour had passed since piercing myself. The waiting room lay about my shoulders heavily.
Finally my name was called by a nurse wanted to take my vitals. Blood pressure normal, temperature normal. White as a sheet, but coherent. Thankfully, instead of ferreting me back into the waiting room, she bumped me up the priorities list and saw me to a room.
A nurse stopped by with water and saltines to help me regain some color. The doctor popped in and was impressed the the strength I must have had to force the needle so cleanly the wrong way though my own flesh. He ordered an x-ray to ensure it hadn't hit the bone. I could have told him that. My hands may be strong, but they certainly are not that strong.
But who's to turn down the chance to have an x-ray of a sharp foreign object in an appendage?
The doctor apologized for the need to pierce my flesh twice more...because the sewing needle wasn't enough that day. And that bastard syringe...stabbing me twice...registered far more pain than actually injury had aroused. Never offer me the opportunity to swear. I have a foul, foul mouth when given the liberty. At least the young doctor was highly amused.
I was escorted down to x-ray after the anesthetic had taken hold. Three quick pictures and I was walked back to my room to wait for the images to process and for the doctor to return.
The needle had made its home in my flesh for near two hours by this point. Imagine this ordeal had it included the full estimated hour and a half wait in the lobby...
The doctor returned with some amazing x-rays and a pair of pliers. Turning away I could barely registered that he moved my hand, let only yanked the accursed piece of metal out. That was it? Barely even a drop of blood spread on the gauze he pressed to my finger. He offered the needle back. But not the x-rays. I opted to take home no souvenir.
My finger bandaged, paperwork filed, I filled my small prescription and waited for Ross.
Now a few days later two small red spots barely mark the ordeal. But photo and gruesome story remain.
posted by Unknown at
7:14 PM
2 Comments:
I was truly shocked by your story. (For what it’s worth – and seriously - you may have missed your calling. You are a marvelous writer. You certainly captured and held my attention.)
I was on a fishing trip a number of years ago when a friend had a fish hook go entirely thru her finger. I was the one who drove her to the hospital. Although in obvious pain, she was a brave soldier and handled it remarkably well, considering.
I almost fainted. Twice.
This is a true story. Unfortunately.
I’m glad you are mending without complications. For my sake, please make a greater effort not to do it again.
j.
I agree that is an epic story...I'm impressed that they took an x-ray. When I pierced my finger, the doctor squeezed it a few times, assured me if it had hit bone "it would hurt a lot worse" and then launched into a description of how through and through injuries work...which I curtly cut short by some cutting remark and waving my finger in his face.
Glad you're feeling better.
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