By Which I Meant “Moroccan Henna”
My pinkie finger hurts. I got a sliver in it yesterday and may or may not have been successful in getting the whole thing out. Now I am just waiting for the infection to set in because I don’t have a doctor and this is how things go for people who don’t have doctors. I had a new doctor in June but I fired her because she was awful. Then I had a new doctor in August, but I fired him because he was incompetent. So now I have a hurt finger but no doctor. I also have another thing going on that might be serious or it might be unremarkable but since my second fired doctor is — let’s say, intellectually incurious — there’s no way of knowing until I find another doctor.
See, the problem is that there are a lot of doctors who are accepting new patients, but they are mostly terrible (see above paragraph). If you want to see someone who’s not, you know, an unprofessional moron, you have to (a) happen to call their office on one of the two days each year when they will actually accept a new patient and then (b) wait two to four months for an available appointment by which time whatever is wrong with you has either gone away on its own or you are deceased.
Lest you think I’m overdramatizing, which I tend to do when one of my fingers is critically injured, allow me to tell you what my second fired doctor said to me after I had an allergic reaction to medication, which caused my blood pressure to drop to 12 over -7 and made breathing sort of iffy: “Wellllll … I’ll put it in your record that you’re allergic to this, but I’m reluctant to do that because it closes off a treatment avenue.” Yes, well it also closes off a death avenue, so please stop talking and start updating my chart? Additionally, he then decided my symptoms weren’t that bad and suggested some home remedies, which had already been suggested three weeks earlier by Dr. Google, the only difference being that Dr. Google didn’t charge me $515 and didn’t prescribe medication that reminded me I need to update my will.
I’m taking my mom to see her doctor (whom we love) next week and I’m going to ask her if she’ll take me as a patient even though she hasn’t been accepting new patients for a couple of years and she only works two and half days a week and I’m sure she’ll say no but refer me to one of her colleagues who is available only because he or she is no good and who will probably turn out to be my third fired doctor in less than four months. But the main thing is that I have a plan.
Hey, did you hear that America has the best health care in the world? So did I!
You are probably wondering how I got a splinter in my finger. Some of you have no doubt already jumped ahead to the comments section to ask so I’ll just tell you. I was sanding my front door in preparation for painting it. It’s just a normal-size and -shaped door but because I have to get all the old oil-based lacquer off of it before I can paint, I’ve already spent two days prepping it. Today I put on a coat of primer and then I can paint it this weekend. I’m spending five days on a 2′ x 8′ portion of my house. I really need to start drinking more liquor.
I also discovered that Home Depot, unlike Sears, doesn’t have pre-mixed cans of paint just sitting out on the shelves so that you can get in and out without interacting with anyone more than strictly necessary. So I had the following conversation with an Orange Apron Guy, in which I play the part of a cretin.
Me [looking at all the paint cans, wondering why they have no colors listed like they do at Sears]: La la la la la la la la.
Orange Apron: Are you finding everything you need?
Me: Yes. Well, no. I need some semi-gloss latex paint for an exterior door.
Orange Apron: Did you pick out a color yet?
Me: Uh. … Brown?
Orange Apron [warily, in case this is an episode of Punk'd, then patiently, the way you'd talk to a three-year-old]: Okay, first you have to come over here [indicates rack with a million different color cards] and choose a color. And then [checks to make sure I'm still understanding] you go over there [points to counter] and give them the card with the color you want [peers at me to see if my eyes are still tracking] and they’ll make your paint for you! [drops mic, walks away]
Me: Okay, thank you! I’M SORRY! Really … I’m sorry. My finger hurts.
Why do I have to get all of the splinter out anyway? People get shot and doctors leave the bullet in. Okay, maybe only one of my doctors would do that. I’m going to go rest my finger on a little pillow now.
Just suck it up and go to my doc in Ballard. He’s great :)
Also – for slivers, splinters, etc. you can put a gob of Vicks Vapo rub on it, then a bandaid, in in the morning the splinter will be sucked out of your skin and on the bandaid.
PPS autocorrect really doesn’t like Vapo
I’m afraid if I go to Ballard, someone will make me eat lutefisk.
I read that a paste made out of baking soda and water will also draw the splinter out, but I tried it and jesus god did it ever hurt. Then I remembered that baking soda is what I use to unclog my drains, so you know. I’m not even sure anything is still in there; it might just hurt now because it was in there pretty deep. It’s starting to look better though, so maybe I won’t die.
But thank you for the suggestion. I will send you a username as a token of my appreciation.
You are cracking me up. Neosporin with kill the bad shit, and cost about three bucks.
I’ve never gotten used to most doctors. I grew up in a tiny, TINY town, where there were about three family practicing doctors. We made a phone call to Cindy, the receptionist, and we were in. It probably didn’t hurt that we brought every single person in that office a jar of homemade jam every Christmas. My parents probably still do.
Homemade jam is the answer to everything. Hey! Maybe put some on your finger!
Of the many things the internet has told me to put on my finger, homemade jam is my favorite so far.
I am old enough (because I am old) (remind me to tell you about radio someday) to remember when all doctors were like the ones in your hometown and if it sounded serious enough, they’d tell you to come in right that minute. Doctor’s offices also had answering services and if you were calling at night or on a weekend, the service would call the doctor and the doctor would call you back. Now it’s just a recorded message saying, “if this is a medical emergency, hang up and dial 9-1-1.” Although because the place I go charges $175 just to walk in the door, they have an actual person to tell you to hang up and call 9-1-1, and I guess it is nice to have some human contact before you lapse into unconsciousness.
After being sick for 3 weeks with what was originally diagnosed as constipation, I feel your pain. My soon-to-be-ex doctor also suggested my problems might be in my head. Until she saw my liver enzymes were elevated. Is it a good idea to prescribe Vicodin to someone with elevated liver enzymes? According to the packaging, NO. I would write more, but I am going to take a shower. My one rule about being sick is, take a shower every day, in case you have to go somewhere, like the ER.
Your last sentence is making me laugh because for the last month, I have chosen my underwear on the same basis. “Let’s see, I’m just going to stay home and paint the door, so I could wear these ratty old Target underpants; on the other hand, if paramedics are going to be cutting my pants off, I don’t want them to be distracted from performing life-saving procedures by the little bits of escaping elastic.”
I don’t know if doctors never say, “it’s all in your head” to men, but there have been many studies that show they say it to women a lot. Even women doctors say it, which is disheartening.
Speaking as an expert splinter recipient, you’ll be just fine. Keep it clean, soak it in warm water and epsom salts once or twice a day for a few days, and you’ll be right as rain. And yeah, the Home Despot paint gulag can be rather annoying. I used to be able to buy flat black interior paint just off the shelf, and it was always the same shade of black. Now I have to pick the darkest card I can find, and then pray I get the kindly older gentleman behind the counter instead of the disgruntled overweight guy or the pissed off teen who resents being so far away from his X-Box and ask him to make it as black as possible. (we use a lot of black paint in the theatre).
By the way, where does one acquire tiny finger pillows?
Fingerhut, of course.
You know what’s weird? I have epsom salts. Why, I could not say.
After putting on one coat of paint today, I feel like going back to Home Depot and punching out the paint guy. And I would too, but you know … my finger. I specifically asked for latex paint and he sold me latex enamel, which is ridiculously hard to work with because it goes on like glue and starts to dry almost as soon as you put it on. Within about ten minutes, I was standing on my porch saying, “WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH THIS PAINT?” Argh. Just once, I would like something to be easy.
I know medical school is super-hard, but whenever I talk to doctors–particularly those with specialties in dermatology or ophthalmology–I really kick myself for majoring in liberal arts and not making more of an effort in my science classes. If I was a doctor, then I could also treat more of my own minor complaints without dealing with lunatics and people so in the pockets of drug companies that having a patient’s throat close up is worth risking to not close off a ‘treatment option.’
I have heard that splinters will eventually be reabsorbed by the body, although I’m not sure that’s much of a comfort. You could try an urgent care center–at very least, they might be only equally incompetent and cheaper than a ‘regular’ doctor. I am sure she is good, but I am jealous of someone who only works 2.5 days a week.
I also miss the days when colors didn’t have names. I liked it when I felt fancy mixing red and yellow in art class, but didn’t feel compelled to name the result ‘Martha Stewart Pumpkin Orange.”
Martha Stewart would probably call it something like Kabocha Sunset or some such nonsense. Incidentally, I bought some Martha Stewart bathroom rugs once and they turned out to be the cheapest damn things ever. Once through the washing machine and they were in shreds. That’s not really related to anything we’re talking about, but I like to tell people because she’s always yammering on about how she only puts her name on quality products.
I think splinters will generally get pushed to the surface by new layers of skin, unless they’re under the bottom layer. Although reabsorption would also be okay. I just don’t want to be like one of those people who have black spots on their body from when they broke a pencil lead off in their leg in the third grade.
Aside from a couple of specialties, being a doctor must be super hard, what with everyone being envious and resentful of their wealth just because they charge $17 a minute. (I wish that were an exaggeration, but it’s the standard fee, at least in Seattle.)
I had never heard of baking soda paste for splinters until I read it in your blog, and then a hour later I saw it on Pinterest. Weird. Also probably a cruel hoax given how painful it was.
There’s also something called ichthammol ointment that you can get at the pharmacy. I read that it’s greasy and it stains everything and smells like axle grease, all of which makes me think an infection would be more fun.
I don’t know what your splinter status is at this point but I have had good luck with a poltice made of honey, turmeric and cinnamon (it’s good on chicken, too). It’s pretty gooey and not all of it stays under the bandage but I always apply it at night and change my pillow case the next day.
The problem with the paint color names (at least for me) is that I am too easily swayed by the name and am likely to pick the wrong color because of it. I painted the dining room Twelfth Night once and didn’t like it much; plus, despite the literary name my vocabulary did not improve because of the walls.
Nothing at all to do with any of this . . . Dial M for Murder is on. I really never could take Ray Milland after seeing this one.
Wait, your regular pillowcase or your finger pillowcase? The turmeric in the poultice makes sense because it’s a natural antibiotic. When I’m sick, I sometimes drink turmeric tea (really just a teaspoon of it dumped in hot water), which is gritty and not at all tasty but it doesn’t require a copay. My original splinter is better. It’s been marinating in Neosporin for a couple of days and now it looks like all of it is out. But yesterday I discovered a different, larger splinter on a different finger that doesn’t hurt at all. I’m leaving it alone entirely to see if it will come out on its own. It’s like a science experiment for dumb people.
Funny that you should mention a Hitchcock movie and being swayed by paint color names. I was a little put off by the color I chose being named Moroccan Henna because it made me think of how Jimmy Stewart and Doris Day’s son was kidnapped in The Man Who Knew Too Much, enough so that it made me briefly consider getting a different color. I didn’t, and now I can’t get the song Que Sera Sera out of my head while I’m painting, although that’s at least making me feel somewhat at peace about how shitty this paint is covering.
I know for a fact if you can find the doctor’s DEA#, the last few digits will tell you where they graduated in their class. Most of the doctors I know have really high digits. I should have totally been a doctor because I know I could have made it through school after talking to half the nimrods out there.
signed,
a former drug rep.
I think in Washington, written prescriptions include the DEA number; I’ll have to look next time I get one. Although I’m not entirely sure I want to know. Even though I know class rank doesn’t mean all that much (since I knew some people in law school who got very good grades but turned out to be really shitty lawyers), I can picture a conversation in which the doctor tells me to put my feet in the stirrups and I refuse on the grounds that they were in the 40th percentile in med school.
My doctor takes new patients and gets them in right away. Do you mind a trip to Tulsa each time you’re sick?
The last time I had a shard of glass in my foot (I walk around barefoot way too much, it seems), my doctor couldn’t even get it out. I coated it with Prid (a “drawing salve”) and it came out on its own a day or two later.
I Googled Prid and it looks like around here it’s only available at Wal-Mart. I’ve realized there’s still a tiny bit of sliver left in there, but I don’t want to go to Wal-Mart. I always think I’m going to get TB when I go there.
A trip to Tulsa might not be so bad. I chose my second fired doctor on the basis of his being five minutes away from my house. Since he seems okay with killing me, I’m not sure getting to his office quickly is necessarily a good thing.
It should come out on its own. Turmeric is good for it though.
I’d like to have a job naming paint colors. I paint watercolors and I always am amused by the names of paints. Same thing with hair colors.
That’s hilarious that you had that song stuck in your head. That kind of thing happens to me all the time. Weird mental associations and then odd songs running through my head all day. I had a No Doubt song stuck in my head the other day, but now I can’t think what triggered it. (If I do, it’ll get stuck in my head again probably.)
I’ve had Ice Ice Baby stuck in my head all day. IT’S BEEN A VERY BAD DAY INDEED.
I want to know who the psychopath is who’s naming Crayola crayon colors. There are names like “Inchworm” and “Fuzzy Wuzzy.” Those aren’t even colors; it’s just screwing with the minds of little children. It reminds me of that old Steve Martin joke about playing a joke on your kids by talking wrong, so that when they go to school they’ll ask the teacher if they can mambo dogface to the banana patch.
Couldn’t you (or a friend, ok maybe a neighbor or your mother) take it out? How big is that sucker for you to need a doctor? I’m sorry. I’m trying to feel compassion, but somehow it seems to evade me today (and the rest of the year as well, I’m told)… Take care of that finger and good luck with the doctor.
That’s not really what I said, but it’s later in the day where you are, so I’ll allow it.