As usual, today's post is related to what is on my mind, not about quilting or pattern design.
Admittedly, on occasion I am easily confused. But, I'm trying to puzzle something out here, and I can't quite make sense of it.
This weekend Hubby and I were camping. And by camping I mean, no running water, no shower, no outhouse, no electricity. No other people for miles around. Think deep woods survival. Roughing it in a tent and cooking over a campfire. On Sunday, I reached into a deep bin of dishes and silverware and being a klutz, I managed to skewer the inside of my forearm on a sharp knife.
According to television crime dramas, the wound is in what could be considered the 'defensive position.' You know, where a knife would strike me if I had my arm up to protect my face. So we pack up our junk and head into the Drayton Valley hospital to get it stitched up. I show up in the emergency room bleeding like a stuck pig, filthy from camping all weekend, my legs and arms covered in bruises (because I am a klutz and bruise like a peach). My hair looks like I was caught in a windstorm and I haven't showered for three days. Frankly, I looked like I had been in a brawl. I talked to five different members of the hospital staff and not one of them, including the doctor, asked how I got a knife wound in such a weird spot.
Now, flash back to about a year and a half ago, give or take. Way back then, we had fish for supper one evening and somehow I managed to get a small fish bone stuck in my throat. (Probably because I was starving and eating way too fast.) I tried eating a piece of bread because I heard that might dislodge it; but it didn't work. To make a long story short, the next morning, my throat was still bugging me so I went to the South Calgary Health Center to see if there was still something lodged there.
The nurse takes me into the back and starts asking me questions. One of the questions was "How are things at home? Is everything okay?" That stumped me, I didn't know what she was getting at. I finally managed to determine that she was asking about domestic abuse. What the hell? My response was, "Tell me how that has anything to do with a fishbone in my throat and how it is any of your f-ing business?" Seriously, I'm a chubby girl. I'm not skinny enough that someone might be force feeding me by ramming whole fish down my throat.
The concept of asking patients about abuse pissed me off. I didn't have bruises, scrapes, cuts or broken bones. (And don't give me a lecture on how the questions might help someone, I had a damned fish bone stuck in my throat, not a wound that might come from being battered.)
Does this make any sense to you? I get a fish bone stuck in my throat and get the third degree, and I have an awkward knife wound and nobody even asks how I got it?
Like I said, I don't get it!
Oh, the cut was small, but deep enough that I needed it sutured. Only one stitch but it hurt like hell when they stitched it without freezing. Had to get a tetanus shot too. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. (And I'm getting a getter bin to store the dishes and sharp knives in.)