{Science delayed again, sorry folks. Soon!}

Or at least, it sort of feels like my finger is off in outer space right now.

This morning, or really, last night, I concluded that my finger was not getting better, had gotten in fact far worse since I saw the doc on Tuesday, and it was time for me to go to the Emergency Room and get the nasty thing taken care of before something really bad happened.

I will admit, the god damned pain had a lot to do with my decision as well. It had gotten really bad. It burned so bad that it felt like my fingertip was dipped in boiling oil. The ache in the finger joint was making all the other joints in that hand, including the wrist, ache in sympathy. And slight motion would make the whole infected area throb and vibrate with agony. It would throb so hard that it felt like an invisible force like magnetism was pushing at it in deep pulses.

There is only so much of that anyone can take before they seek relief.

So at around 7:30 AM, Joe (the saint) dropped me off at the entrance to the Emergency Room. And I must say that it went a lot better than my previous blog entry’s embittered riff would have predicted.

(I seriously had no idea I had all that in me until I started writing it. Turns out I had bitter feelings about emergency rooms all bottled up and waiting for release. Who knew?)

The three initial hurdles were a breeze. No waiting to talk to the admissions nurse, only around a five minute wait until the triage doc saw me, no wait for the intake guy, and then another five minutes waiting for someone from the ward to come fetch me.

While waiting, I read an article about the trend towards urban chicken farming in Canadian Geographic. The idea has some charm. I am very curious about what a really fresh egg tastes like. I am a fan of fresh organic low-travel food. And having pet chickens who also happen to make food for you out of table scraps has a certain appeal.

But it still seems like a lot of trouble to go through to get fresh eggs. Plus, you know… poop.

Anyhow, eventually I get a bed on the ward, and then the waiting begins. I manage to do some reading despite the pain making that hard to do, but mostly, I end up listening to the conversations happening on either side of me.

For me, eavesdropping is not really voluntary. Not when the conversations are that close to me and I am already in an emotionally vulnerable state. It takes a very specific and intense act of will for me not to listen to what people are saying when I can hear it that clearly, and I was bored and alone and in need of distraction anyhow, so listen I did.

Weirdly, both my neighbours had to have catheters put in. Synchronicity strikes again. The fellow in my right hand side has been unable to pee for a whole day and was in dire need. Poor old duffer. Old age is so damn injurious to one’s basic human dignity.

The fellow on the other side of me was in worse straits, because his catheter was in wrong somehow and he was in a hell of a lot of pain. I could hear his agonized cries quite clearly.

Sometimes it sucks to be so sensitive. I really felt bad for the guy.

Eventually, I was moved to the seated patient waiting area, because, as Lindsay the nurse said, “it’s just a finger”. Meaning I did not need to be occupying a bed when the doctor could see me as fine if I was sitting. I understand and even approve of the reasoning, but part of me still resented it.

Finally, they stuck me in a real room on the ward, a treatment room I think, and eventually, Doctor Wong came along and injected three needles worth of freezing into my finger. And while the needles hurt like a bitch, it was totally worth it almost right away, because finally I was free of the fucking pain for the first time in days.

The relief was so profound that I wanted to go to sleep right then and there. I was almost giddy from the release of tension. I felt like I could float away.

But the doctor would be back when the freezing was fully in, so I had to stay grounded.

And let me tell you, that finger was totally frozen. I barely felt it at all when she opened up the boil and let the bad stuff out, and as far as I am concerned, that was marvelous. I have had experience with the “only mostly dead” kind of anesthetic, and let me tell you, it is no fun.

After the doc was done, I had to wait a while, then a rather cute male nurse came along to dress the wound so I could go. We chatted a bit. He says I look like a guy named Mike on a show called Orange County Choppers where they make custom motorcycles. I will have to look that up because I have to see if that is true. Out there on TV, a doppelganger of me. Freakay.

And so now I am home. Doctor Wong wanted me to get an appointment with my GP ASAP, and she wanted it to be Monday, but Tuesday was the best I could do.

I took a nap when I got home, and somehow during said nap, the dressing on my finger vanished. Cannot find it anywhere. Whad dee fug. Luckily, the cute Asian male nurse gave me some gauze and some tape so I was able to fashion a very crude one of my own.

Trust me, nobody wants to see the Zombie Finger underneath, least of all me.

So not out of the woods yet, but out of pain, which will do for now.