P lost a chunk of his thumb this weekend, thanks to injudicious use of a mandolin (instrument of the kitchen variety, as opposed to a stringed instrument, though that would also have been a sight to see - I feel confident gouts of blood don't often come of a serenade). I wasn't there when the injury was sustained, for which I think we're all grateful,* but I was the one who hauled his mangled carcass to the A&E yesterday.
Can we just sing a round of Hallelujah for a Christmas miracle? There was not one other person aside from medical staff in the entire emergency clinic. Unbelievable. The only delay in obtaining speedy and efficient treatment was me filling out P's form and narrating it back to him (it's his right thumb). P was not so keen on my description of how the injury occurred - I wanted to write: 'Potatoes Dauphinoise and a Sharp Thing - Need I Say More?' but my suggestion made him all huffy. We went with: 'preparing dinner', which I think you'll agree is terribly boring.
P was seen quickly and I stayed put in the waiting room, reading my fill of mimi smartypants (terrible choice for a medical centre, given mimi kept making me snicker.)** I could vaguely hear P talking to the nurses though and asking for a spot to lie down when they took off the dressing, poor love. At one point, a nurse appeared and asked whether I was the girlfriend. This made me a bit huffy, as she asked with a spot of incredulity. I composed myself, trying to believe that P's babyface probably had more to do with it that me looking like a decrepit cradlesnatcher or an uncaring witch who deserts her one-and-only, and replied in the affirmative, resisting the bizarre temptation to wave my left hand and cry 'wife, actually'.
He spent the rest of the afternoon and evening prone on the couch with the thumb elevated, as removing the original dressing had caused further bleeding. I think it was quite sore too. However, because I'm awful I kept veering between laughter (he looks so funny, giving the entire world a bulky thumbs up) and edging away from him (because ew, I missed you while you were gone but I cannot handle that thing touching my body). What a magnificent nurse I'd make. I think I've really missed my calling.
*I am NOT. GOOD. in an emergency. Think faint, freak out-y. I'm not proud of this, but at least I'm honest with myself. Oh god, I'm feeling vaguely squirmy and nauseous just thinking about it.
**Given my emergency response-mode, I couldn't deal with seeing the injury in the flesh, as it were. Poor P was therefore deprived of the soothing balm of my company in the emergency room. I'm sure he desperately missed having my hand to hold.