My so-called journal

Well, I just can't stay out of the ER for long; this afternoon, I was looking for something under my desk, and managed to get a long sliver under my fingernail. (My floors are pine planks, and are over 100 years old now.) The end was visible under my nail—and the whole splinter was visible running the length of the nail bed—but I decided not to pull too hard, lest it break off.

I first went to the Northwell Health clinic a few blocks away on 8th street, but they had a sign posted that they were closing at 5 PM today and Sunday. A holiday weekend? That's when people are most likely to injure themselves!

So headed over to the ER at Beth Israel hospital, waited a bit, and noticed there weren't a lot of people there for a change; seems everyone was gone for the weekend. (It was about 8:30 PM by this time.)

It was a very simple job; the doctor injected my finger with Lidocaine® in a few places, to get me good and numb. He then made sure he had a good hold on the splinter; while I felt some pain, it wasn't bad, and I concentrated on holding still. It only took a few minutes, and he'd yanked a piece of wood at least a half-inch long—or a centimeter—out!

Strange thing, though; I had made a note of when I got my Tdap vaccination for the last crisis a few months ago. For some reason, my Calendar app doesn't want to hold onto these memories, and I couldn't find on my phone when it was done. My desktop does have a note I made of getting a tetanus booster in 2015, though; so maybe I never noted when I got my Tdap—more likely, I noted it on the phone but didn't also mark it on the desktop calendar.

In the ER, they took my word for it when I said I'd gotten it a few months ago—I'm pretty sure it was in the winter—and didn't prescribe any antibiotics, fortunately. (I mentioned I just had a course of antibiotics a month or so ago, for oral surgery.)

Time for bed; it's almost 3 AM, so I hope the melatonin kicks in soon.

Today as I was crossing the Bowery at 4th street, I tripped and fell. No biggie, I thought—except that I couldn't get up easily. A passerby tried to help me and I insisted I was okay.

The pain made me scream, though—I couldn't help it. I got to the other side and called 911.
( Cut for space )


The operator told me to sit down on the curb while I waited. I said I couldn't; my knee was locked.

They think it's dislocated, not broken, but I'm waiting for an X-ray right now. The nurse just brought me a Motrin.

[I wrote last night:]

Today I had carpal-tunnel release surgery on my right hand, and while that should be occasion for an update, there's nothing particularly uplifting, enlightening, or even educational about it right now. My wrist hurts like hell and I was given a scrip for Vicodin® but haven't been able to fill it yet. (Gonna have to go out to the 24-hour pharmacy to get it, I guess.) I'm typing with one hand while I hold the other aloft, because the doctor stressed the importance of keeping the hand elevated above my heart.

I have to make a sling for tomorrow so no one expects me to write or do anything with my right hand. Even today, when I was taking the stairs in the subway and keeping to the left, people were pissed off that I didn't keep with the flow of traffic, not realizing how hazardous it would be for me if I couldn't hold the railing. Fun times in the big city.

Well, everything feels better when you get some sleep. My wrist still hurts, which isn't surprising since they made the incision at the base of my hand where all the nerves converge. I took a regular Tylenol, because the Vicodin® was nice but I'm no pillhead. This is going to be an easier recovery than when I broke my [right] wrist last winter, particularly because I have sensation in my right hand. Even when I hold it up—you have no idea how excited I am about that! For years, I've been unable to hold my right hand up for any length of time, and it's gotten worse and worse. I'm itching to play my sax, but it's still in the shop.

Well, I cracked a molar over the weekend; it was a wisdom tooth, and I made an emergency appointment at my dental clinic. The dentist said it would have to be root-canaled, and I figured that for a wisdom tooth, it might as well be extracted. "It isn't a necessary tooth, is it?" I asked.

"Well, no," said the dentist.

"It won't affect my bite, will it?" I asked.

"No."

"Well, pull it out, then," I said.

"You're not in any pain, so you can sleep on it," she said.

Having just spent a few months of evening appointments, and nearly $2000 on my root canal a few months ago, I wasn't eager to repeat the experience. "No really; that's my final answer," I said. "Pull it out."

( This is gross, so don't feel you have to look--it's my bloody tooth. )