Keep Your Band-Aid Dry

I blogged about this accident in 2008, but tonight, I decided to take it a step further and share some photos.  The reason?  Several times since this happened to me, I have felt compelled to share the huge lesson I learned.  Every time people heard it, they expressed gratitude - immediately going home to "change the band-aid" or call their friend and make sure the wound was dry.

***PLEASE READ NO FURTHER IF YOU HAVE A WEAK STOMACH, BECAUSE I AM GOING TO SHARE SOME PHOTOS.***

The story (below) is true and I'm hoping, with the holidays coming, that it might help someone to be a little smarter than I was!
December 24, 2007. We had enjoyed a wonderful time at the park, feeding the ducks with the "little men" ... 

12-24-07 - Just a little while after this was taken, the incident happened.

A while later, I was working alone in the kitchen, excited to be using my new Pampered Chef knife, anticipating all of the family coming in and the fun we had planned.  
Younger son and his wife were out running a quick errand while their little boys (ages 1 and almost 3) were taking a nap in the back bedroom; hubby was running an errand ... Brother and his wife driving in from Dallas ... Dad and his wife would also be joining us for dinner.  
I was chopping chicken and onions for a wonderful chicken enchilada dish, a great Christmas Eve meal. Oops. A small nick on the right forefinger. Happens all the time, doesn't it?  
I ran cold water over the cut, wiped it with a paper towel, noticed it wouldn't stop bleeding, so ran to the bathroom and grabbed a band-aid. Wrapped the finger. It was a great band-aid. Stuck extremely well (didn't want to fall off like so many want to).  
December 25. Christmas Day arrived. A wonderful day! ... though I did notice that my finger was sure sore. But the band-aid was holding up well. 

That evening, bathing the boys was a bit painful. I remember talking with the older one about "Mimi's" hurt finger with the band-aid...

One of those wonderful Christmas mornings, 12-25-07.  Excitement of little ones and joy in the air.

December 26. Everyone was scheduled to leave, which is always sad. Lots of hugs ... more eating ...  more hugging.  
My older son who had been out of state with his fiancee came in to visit for a while. Right after lunch, cars were being packed, and I was holding on to my little guys for as long as I could.

12-26-07 - I can't help but notice the exhaustion and pain on my face. Infection had set in, and I didn't know it.

When the last car pulled out, I lay down on the couch and called to my Hubby, telling him, finally, how much pain I was in. He was shocked when we removed the band-aid. We called the doctor.  
You know how difficult it is to get a doctor on a holiday? Right. Long story short, we headed for ER.  
An hour later, I'm on morphine, pumping all night long to keep it coming in. I do not, cannot go to sleep. The pain is excruciating.  
December 27. The doctor comes into my room and I throw up before I can even talk to him.  Morphine does that to me.  He tells me he has to operate.  He has to try and get the poison out.  I do not argue.  He puts me out and cuts my finger open; cuts open the palm of my hand; runs a tube through.  I wake up hours later discovering my whole hand up to the wrist is wrapped.  
December 28. It is agony having to run saline and medicine through my finger and hand. I literally scream during the procedure. I learned that the heart patient next door to me got to go home. I don't.

December 29. I can't believe the pain one small finger is causing me. I'm trying to walk in the hallways a little as my doctor ordered. People stop me, visitors, patients, other nurses; they've heard it was a 'knife accident', but they can't figure out how a middle-aged lady and knife accident go together.  
December 30. The doctor will not let me out of the hospital. I'm on two heavy-hitter antibiotics to stop the bad-boy infection. I'm finally starting to realize that I am very lucky to still have my finger, my hand, my life.

December 31. I am at last allowed to go home.  It is so odd. The last time I was home, I was waving good-bye to my kids, hugging my grandsons, my brother, my dad ...  
Everything is exactly where it was when we tore out of the house for the ER. Scattered wrapping paper; fruit cake; cups and saucers ... Hubby, who had been scared to death, had stayed by my side most of the horrid time in the hospital.

I walk around my home feeling a bit dazed -- like where did time go?  What kind of time warp was I in?  Usually by this time of year, I'm wrapping up my New Year's list, marking things off, writing thank-you's.  Often by this time, the tree is already back in the attic.  
I can't bear to look at my finger during the horrible cleaning and band-aid changing Hubby has to do for me. I am weak-kneed and giddy during the procedure.  And I still can't believe the holidays came and went .... 
The moral to this story ... KEEP YOUR BAND-AID DRY. It wasn't a dirty knife, or salmonella. Truth is, I didn't keep the band-aid dry. It was a great band-aid that stuck so well. But the minute it got wet, I should have removed it, dried the cut, and started over again with a dry band-aid. You would think I would have known that. But I had a house full of company, and I was just happy I'd found a band-aid that would stick.