Night Out to Nightmare in Thirty Seconds.

If you follow me on Twitter, or Facebook or even just particularly pay attention to this site you should know by now that I massively fucked up my hand last weekend. Since then, I have received numerous requests to explain just what the hell happened. I do appreciate the concern (or just sick curiosity) but I haven’t really felt up to the task of typing this all out until now. I’m going to make this fairly brief, since the act of typing is excruciatingly painful. I’m also going to omit specific names and locations. If you already know the whos and wheres, nifty. If not they won’t add to the story.

The story begins last Saturday night. I was drinking at a local bar with a good friend of mine. Nothing out of the ordinary. As I was drinking I noticed that there was something not quite right with my barstool. For those not in the know, the stools at this particular joint are basically a welded steel frame with a cheap seat bolted to the top. What I was noticing was that it seemed that the upholstery of my stool was coming unfastened. What I didn’t know was that the reality was much more dangerous.

At about eleven o’clock I returned from the pisser and went to sit down. As I did so, I grabbed the seat of the barstool to hitch it forward. Unknown to me, the seat itself separated from the frame, and approximately one centimeter of my left ring finger slipped between the frame and the seat. When my (not inconsiderable) weight came down on the seat my finger was trapped between the plywood seat and the steel frame.

At that point I felt the worst “pinch” I have ever experienced. I wrenched my finger loose and immediately clutched it in my left hand. My companion turned to me to ask what was wrong just as I took a look a quick look at my finger. I expected to see a possibly bruised fingertip; maybe even a broken nail. Instead I was greeted by a ragged lump of torn flesh with bone sticking out. Not pleasant, I assure you. Fortunately my body goes into shock quickly. So instead of passing out like I wanted to, I whipped a napkin off of the bad and clamped it around my finger. Turning to the bartender I said, “I need an ambulance.”

To turn a hellishly long story short, the EMTs arrived, quickly bandaged my hand and began a search for the missing fingertip, which they eventually found still wedged in the barstool. I was then transported to a local hospital where it was determined that the finger was not a candidate for reattachment. A surgeon was contacted, who decided that he could repair the damage with outpatient surgery (which I had Tuesday) and I was released. All through this my companion remained with me until my family proper could be contacted, which undoubtedly allowed me to retain what sanity I had left at that point.

So that’s the story so far. I won’t know until my followup exam exactly how much finger was lost, although a good centimeter seems likely. Also unknown at this point is the status of my fingernail re-growth. The surgeon was optimistic but not definitive.

There you have it, now I need to take some drugs.