What's up, Doc?

This is the story of my day yesterday.

To start off, let me say that I am a tad bit accident prone (those of you who know me well/lived with me are chuckling right now). I have been known to trip over my own feet, fall up stairs, and run into walls. I have also had stitches 7 times.

Wait, what?!? Seven?!? Seriously?

Yes, seriously. And thats not including wisdom teeth and childbirth. Some pretty interesting stories, those are. Like the rat incident (thats another blog post, my friends).

Yesterday was stitches day #7.

I was doing a haircut at school and happened to cut myself. Usually this doesn't phase me, I do it so often. I just slap a bandaid on it and keep on cuttin. But this time was different. I cut myself on my left hand, right on the middle finger knuckle. Well, I guess I should say cut the knuckle off. Almost completely off.

Ouch.

I wrapped in in a few bandaids and quickly finished the cut. I then debated about going to the ER for stitches. One of the girls at school is a nurse also, and she took a look and tod me to go. She also told me about a little clinic down the road that would be cheaper and faster than the emergency room. So off I went.

I drove to where the clinic was supposed to be, but couldn't find it. So I called Brandon to google where the hospital was. After not being able to find one for a few minutes, he told me where to go. I got to the address and parked, but when I went up to the doors, they wouldn't open. So I figured it was just a back entrance. I drove around in the parking lot for another 5 minutes, trying to find a space (it was one of those parking lots where if you go down the aisle the wrong way you cant park) and almost got hit my a car. By this point, the cut on my finger has opened back up and is bleeding again, I am crying because I am in pain and frustrated, and I'm trying to maneuver my way around this crazy parking lot one-handed in a stick shift car. All the while trying to talk to Brandon on the phone. I thought I was going to lose my mind.

I finally park and go in the main entrance, and tel the lady at the front desk that I think I need stitches. She looks at me like I am nuts and says "This is a mental health facility. "

Well, why don't you check me in while you're at it?

She then tells me where the ER is and away I go again. I get to where she said and there is no hospital. There's a bank. There's an Arby's. There's no hospital.

I've now been trying to find a stinkin ER for an hour. Last resort, I called 911, explained my situation and got correct directions. (I was a mile away)

I sat down next to Meth-Maggie and Homeless-Guy-Harry and began my 2-hour wait. FINALLY, I was admitted and they put my finger back together in only about 20 minutes.

Not my best day.