Paper Cuts

It was only a tiny paper cut.

It almost killed me.

Back in the early 2000s, I was working in a Children's Hospital as a surgery scheduler. This meant not only scheduling, but wrangling with insurance companies for authorization, dealing with doctors and parents, and lots of paperwork.

Of course, there were files. Files to search for, files to track down in other departments, files to organize and arrange, files to...file.

It was filing that nearly did me in. While putting a stack away one afternoon, I felt a sudden sharp pain in my finger. I withdrew my hand from the stacks and took note of a single drop of blood on my right index finger, just in the crease of my nail bed.

"Ouch!"

Well, everyone knows paper cuts hurt, and files are dirty, so I put my basket out of the way and headed to the bathroom and washed my hands. I finished my work day, went to school and then went home to bed, not giving it another thought.

Not until about 3:00 a.m.

I woke up, driven out of sleep by pain in my finger. I turned on the light and took a look.

My finger had swollen to a size that made my thumb look small by comparison. It was red and throbbing. I hissed as I pulled the hot skin away from the nail--greenish pus and blood oozed. "Ugh!"

I got up and went looking for possible medications, but there were none in the bathroom. I got dressed. There was a Walgreens on the corner that was open 24-hours, so I walked there and purchased hydrogen peroxide and antibiotic cream.

At home I manipulated and squeezed my teeny wound and set my finger to soak in a bowl of hydrogen peroxide. It bubbled madly, and I felt some relief, so I sat semi-dozing with my hand in the bowl until it was time to get ready for work. I smeared my finger liberally with antibiotic cream and bandaged it.

At work, I continued to have a lot of pain, so I visited the nurse during a break. She basically did the same things I had done during my long night and told me if I didn't get some relief or saw any red streaking I should go to the doctor.

I was not particularly productive that day, but I still boarded a bus afterward and headed for class.

We were working with charcoal in my drawing class that evening, so I put on a surgical glove, not wanting to get my finger dirty. An hour into the exercise, my whole hand was throbbing. I figured the glove was too tight.

Just as I pulled the glove off, my teacher passed my desk and looked down at my hand. "Out!" he ordered, alarmed. "You get yourself to the emergency room, pronto!"

There were red streaks marching their way up from finger to wrist, from wrist to elbow.

"I'll go after class," I protested.

"You'll go now. If that reaches your heart, you're toast."

Ooo. Thanks, teach.

I was alarmed enough that I decided to call my kids for a ride instead of taking the bus.

At the hospital, I went to the receptionist. "What are you here for?" she asked.

"Uh...I have a paper cut."

She smirked at me. I'm pretty sure I smirked back as I showed her my hand. Her face went from smirk to wide eyes and a dropped jaw in seconds. "Can your daughter do your paperwork?" she asked. "If not, we'll take it back with us. Now!"

I passed the paperwork to my daughter and a nurse appeared in the doorway and took me by the arm.

A few minutes later, I was all hooked up to an IV line, with antibiotics dripping into my veins. My son came back with the paperwork. No one knew my social security number or my insurance information.

The receptionist appeared. "How did you cut yourself?" she asked.

"Filing at work."

"Never mind the insurance line, then. Give me a call after you file your workman's compensation claim." She handed me a card.

"Workman's Comp?" I cried, incredulous. "They're never going to pay for a paper cut!"

"Oh, they're going to give you crap ten ways from Sunday," she replied. "But this was a workplace accident, and they have to pay."

My son snorted. She gave him a "You poor guy" pat on the head and left.

The doctor came. Gently, he took my hand and examined my tiny little wound. "Can you even see it?" I asked. "I feel so stupid!"

"No need for that," he smiled. "Did it bleed?"

"There was just a drop of blood. I washed it."

"Hmm. Too bad."

"Why?"

"A wound needs to bleed freely. It washes the dirt and germs away."

"So, antibiotics, and then I can go?"

"Oh, no. We've got to drain this."

I looked at my son, dismayed. "Great. More squeezing."

"Not exactly." A syringe appeared out of nowhere. After spreading a numbing gel, he injected my finger with a stronger numbing agent. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

A nurse came in with a tray full of goodies--bandages, finger cast and scalpel. "Is he going to cut her?" my son asked.

The nurse shrugged. "Just a little cut," she replied.

When the doctor returned, he did some poking to make sure my finger was numb. He took the scalpel in one hand and my finger in the other. Oh, so gently--he was a nice doctor. "Are you ready?"

I looked over my left shoulder, well away from the scene about to commence. I could feel a little pressure, and--

A sudden groan, and the nurse: "Easy, sir! Head down, between your knees!"

"Ughhhh! Gross!" My son sounded like he'd either pass out or vomit.

"Did you watch?" I asked.

What a dummy.

There was more squeezing. Pus and blood. Very gross indeed. I had been sliced, under the fingernail, from left to right, and drained like a bad pipe.

It smelled bad.

"That was badly infected," the doctor remarked. "I wonder what was on that paper?"

"Stitches?" I asked. I was having an internal debate: to puke or not to puke.

"Nah. We're going to doctor this up with antibiotics, pack and bandage it and see you back in three days."

Medication. Bandages. Finger splint. Tape. I looked like I'd broken a bone. Because I am me, I suddenly wished it had been my middle finger--then I could have some fun with it.

I had a headache. It throbbed in perfect harmony with my finger. For some reason, the rhythm became reminiscent of the bell-toll in the beginning strains of "Hell's Bells."

I told the doctor. "Is my heartbeat too slow?" I asked.

He laughed. "You're a musician, aren't you?"

I nodded. "Drums."

"It's just your brain, working overtime to focus on something besides this experience. There are worse earworms, believe me. Enjoy."

He was nice. But he was also a smart-ass.

I had to stay another hour, for a second infusion of antibiotics. They weren't letting me leave until the red streaking, which indicates blood poisoning, began to recede.

That was a long night.

Once home, I did finally lose my lunch. I was glad I was able to wait--there's nothing worse than vomiting in public.

God, I was sick.

I called my office as soon as I knew someone would be there to answer.

"You sound terrible," my co-worker said.

"Yeah. Remember the paper cut?"

She snorted laughter.

I was silent.

She said, "Are you serious?"

"I spent the night in the ER. Blood poisoning."

"Holy crap. I'll tell everyone."

An hour later, my boss called. My son was speaking with her as he brought me the phone. "Yeah, she's sick as a dog," he said. "Here, Mom."

I took the phone and said, "I'm sorry--"

(Why do we always apologize?)

"Don't be daft. See me Monday. I'll help you file a workers comp claim."

"Really?"

"You pay those premiums for a reason, kiddo. Deducted from every check."

"It was a paper cut!"

"You could have died."

I was silent for a moment. Then I said, "I know." I heaved a great sigh. "How dumb would that look on a headstone? 'Here lies Paula, taken out by a paper cut'."

"Too soon. Not funny."

I don't think it will ever be funny. I have had a couple of near-death experiences, but this is the one that came closest to taking me to the clearing, I think.

FYI:

1. A paper cut can kill you.

2. A cut, no matter how tiny, can become infected. So...

3. Make sure it bleeds freely. Squeeze it, spread it open, make sure it bleeds enough to wash out any debris and bacteria

4. Scrub it with soap and water. A quick rinse is not enough!

5. Keep it clean

6. If it is red and hot to the touch, get to your doctor ASAP

7. Red streaking indicates blood poisoning. Straight to the nearest emergency room!

Be careful out there.

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