Heavy Dog in the Machinery
Monday night I was rushed to the Hunterdon Medical Center emergency room after being bitten by my friend Lauren’s dog Rourke. I had driven to her house to attend her work holiday party. We were going to eat scallops and that was going to kick ass.
I got out of my car and Rourke was standing at the deck fence, barking as usual when someone pulls up. I walked up to the gate of the fence, said, "Hi, it’s me." As I began to reach out to pet him to let him know it was me—we’d knocked back a few together before—it occurred to me that he could still only see me through the fence and might not be able to see who I was. Unfortunately, this thought occurred too slowly. Rourke launched and his teeth sank into the meat of my hand, just below my thumb and just above my wrist: two puncture wounds and a more minor nib.
Lauren’s dad paced and asked me several times if I was going to faint. If you’re a regular you may remember that on Monday I was suffering from no sleep. When I got to Lauren’s I was already spent. The nap in the office wasn’t working out so I finally went home an hour early, feeling shitty. In this already emotionally and physically weakened state, when Rourke bit me I broke into tears more out of exhaustion than pain. The bite didn’t really hurt at the time. It looked freakier than it felt, particularly the deeper of the two puncture wounds. There was blood, but not horror-gore blood. Knowing how deep the tooth had gone into my flesh, by sight and by feeling, was the worst and most fascinating part. Lauren and her dad got ice. My first thought after a good ten minutes was, I hope I can still play my guitar; I just learned the bar chord after all. My second thought much later: at least it was my left hand.
After consulting with Lauren’s mom, Lauren drove me to Hunterdon Medical Center. Fortunately the ER, as they call it, wasn’t too busy. I got right in and even got a fast-track bed. Within 15 minutes I’d talked to six different people, had told six different people I didn’t remember when my last tetanus shot was. My temperature was 99 degrees F.
I gotta say, some of those people, particularly the one nurse, didn’t have much grasp of patient perspective. When I told her I hadn’t eaten in while, she retrieved some juice and crackers for me to have before I took the painkiller. She handed me the crackers the juice the painkiller. Mind you, I had only one good hand and no table to set things on. She put the crackers, then, in my lap while I still fumbled with the pill and the cup full of juice. Thanks for your help.
More people came in and asked me questions about the bite, my job, and my address. Then, as if he were telling me he was going to get me a sandwich, the goofy male in scrubs told me they were going to IRRIGATE the wounds. Terrible term to use in conjunction with fresh open wounds. He left with the lesbian in scrubs to get their materials and I said to Lauren: Irrigate? That sounds awful.
The Scrubs returned and I lay down on the stretcher. First they had to numb both wounds with novacaine because they were going to put needles filled with cleaning solution into the wounds. Holy shit. I’m ok with needles. I usually watch the needle when I get shots. This, however, had me suspicious and inquisitive.
Goofy Scrub administered the novacaine. Then the first nurse came at me with a needle containing the tetanus. What the fuck, I thought. They can’t all get me at once. I raised my hand and told her the Scrubs were in the middle of something.
After a couple minutes Lesbian Scrub approached me with her flushing tool. I asked how she knew I was numb. I was nervous. Novacaine has never worked for me in the dentist’s office. I have had to be shot with it again and again. She begins the flushing. At first I just feel the sensation of the cool solution going in. That was fine. I thought she was doing one flush for each wound. Stupid me. She moved back to the first wound. My skin got tight and it fucking hurt. "Aaahh," I bellowed, "How many times are you going to do this?" "At least ten," she said firmly.
At that I had to re-adjust my psyche and pain threshold. Because the third flush hurt, she brought back in Goofy Scrub to re-shoot me with novacaine, which also fucking hurt. I screamed and then I cried. I didn’t really need to cry, but it felt good, and if possible I wanted to make those assholes feel bad for hurting me. (I also knew they dealt with this shit all the time and probably weren't affected. It was all an act to help me through.) Again I re-adjusted my psyche to prepare for the next infinite flushings.
Finally Lesbian Scrub finished and skin on the meat of my palm, now filled with fluid, was tight as the virginest virgin. I thought it might pop open. Then in comes that damnable first nurse with her needle again: tetanus shot in my right arm. After finishing, she gave me my first dose of antibiotic and had a Darvocet ready for me until I told her I would be driving later. Would I be able to take it later? The bitch wouldn't even answer me: gave me a dirty look, took the Darvocet and left the room. Excuse me I was just bitten by a fucking dog and I need that.
The doctor prescribed for me antibiotics and vicodin. This is sweet and funny because Mark was also prescribed antibiotics and vicodin (among others) following his knee surgery. Yesterday we lay crippled together, sleeping off and on, each other's hands and legs filling in where needed. My mom told me not to get addicted to the vicodin, and my grandma told me not to operate heavy machinery.
I got out of my car and Rourke was standing at the deck fence, barking as usual when someone pulls up. I walked up to the gate of the fence, said, "Hi, it’s me." As I began to reach out to pet him to let him know it was me—we’d knocked back a few together before—it occurred to me that he could still only see me through the fence and might not be able to see who I was. Unfortunately, this thought occurred too slowly. Rourke launched and his teeth sank into the meat of my hand, just below my thumb and just above my wrist: two puncture wounds and a more minor nib.
Lauren’s dad paced and asked me several times if I was going to faint. If you’re a regular you may remember that on Monday I was suffering from no sleep. When I got to Lauren’s I was already spent. The nap in the office wasn’t working out so I finally went home an hour early, feeling shitty. In this already emotionally and physically weakened state, when Rourke bit me I broke into tears more out of exhaustion than pain. The bite didn’t really hurt at the time. It looked freakier than it felt, particularly the deeper of the two puncture wounds. There was blood, but not horror-gore blood. Knowing how deep the tooth had gone into my flesh, by sight and by feeling, was the worst and most fascinating part. Lauren and her dad got ice. My first thought after a good ten minutes was, I hope I can still play my guitar; I just learned the bar chord after all. My second thought much later: at least it was my left hand.
After consulting with Lauren’s mom, Lauren drove me to Hunterdon Medical Center. Fortunately the ER, as they call it, wasn’t too busy. I got right in and even got a fast-track bed. Within 15 minutes I’d talked to six different people, had told six different people I didn’t remember when my last tetanus shot was. My temperature was 99 degrees F.
I gotta say, some of those people, particularly the one nurse, didn’t have much grasp of patient perspective. When I told her I hadn’t eaten in while, she retrieved some juice and crackers for me to have before I took the painkiller. She handed me the crackers the juice the painkiller. Mind you, I had only one good hand and no table to set things on. She put the crackers, then, in my lap while I still fumbled with the pill and the cup full of juice. Thanks for your help.
More people came in and asked me questions about the bite, my job, and my address. Then, as if he were telling me he was going to get me a sandwich, the goofy male in scrubs told me they were going to IRRIGATE the wounds. Terrible term to use in conjunction with fresh open wounds. He left with the lesbian in scrubs to get their materials and I said to Lauren: Irrigate? That sounds awful.
The Scrubs returned and I lay down on the stretcher. First they had to numb both wounds with novacaine because they were going to put needles filled with cleaning solution into the wounds. Holy shit. I’m ok with needles. I usually watch the needle when I get shots. This, however, had me suspicious and inquisitive.
Goofy Scrub administered the novacaine. Then the first nurse came at me with a needle containing the tetanus. What the fuck, I thought. They can’t all get me at once. I raised my hand and told her the Scrubs were in the middle of something.
After a couple minutes Lesbian Scrub approached me with her flushing tool. I asked how she knew I was numb. I was nervous. Novacaine has never worked for me in the dentist’s office. I have had to be shot with it again and again. She begins the flushing. At first I just feel the sensation of the cool solution going in. That was fine. I thought she was doing one flush for each wound. Stupid me. She moved back to the first wound. My skin got tight and it fucking hurt. "Aaahh," I bellowed, "How many times are you going to do this?" "At least ten," she said firmly.
At that I had to re-adjust my psyche and pain threshold. Because the third flush hurt, she brought back in Goofy Scrub to re-shoot me with novacaine, which also fucking hurt. I screamed and then I cried. I didn’t really need to cry, but it felt good, and if possible I wanted to make those assholes feel bad for hurting me. (I also knew they dealt with this shit all the time and probably weren't affected. It was all an act to help me through.) Again I re-adjusted my psyche to prepare for the next infinite flushings.
Finally Lesbian Scrub finished and skin on the meat of my palm, now filled with fluid, was tight as the virginest virgin. I thought it might pop open. Then in comes that damnable first nurse with her needle again: tetanus shot in my right arm. After finishing, she gave me my first dose of antibiotic and had a Darvocet ready for me until I told her I would be driving later. Would I be able to take it later? The bitch wouldn't even answer me: gave me a dirty look, took the Darvocet and left the room. Excuse me I was just bitten by a fucking dog and I need that.
The doctor prescribed for me antibiotics and vicodin. This is sweet and funny because Mark was also prescribed antibiotics and vicodin (among others) following his knee surgery. Yesterday we lay crippled together, sleeping off and on, each other's hands and legs filling in where needed. My mom told me not to get addicted to the vicodin, and my grandma told me not to operate heavy machinery.
5 Comments:
Yes, I did notice that about the vicodin. I feel thoroughly relaxed on it and have more disjunct-yet-fluid-and-colorful perceptions than normal. Still aware of some pain, but it isn't exactly with me. However, it didn't do much for my chronic neck pain, which showed its face the night of the dog bite.
Gosh Sara, what an unfortunate series of events. But you're still with us. And you got to spend some goofy drug-induced time with Mark. I'm jealous. I'm gonna starting searching for a good man & a mean dog.
Randoid? I am out of the loop, I am square, I am so uncool it stings.
Well-wishes on your man and mean dog hunt, Eduardo. I tell you it's all worth it. A little pain, a little vicodin, a lot of bad tv in the drowse.
I'm sorry... Ah, vicodin, just be careful now. if you come to my hospital addicted i'll let you keep junk food in your room and maybe let you keep your undies on during the strip search, but that's just between us
Thanks, Kim. Do I get ice cream? It just might happen. I see now how people get addicted to this stuff.
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