Scarred for Life

I think the universe is trying to tell me to stop using my middle fingers for bad. Seriously. Last February I removed several layers of skin off of my middle finger on my right hand. I should have listened then.

Sunday I STABBED my middle finger on my left hand. Deep enough to require stitches. Though my aversion to needles is deeper. So mama just rubbed some anti-bacterial cream on it and a double layer of band-aids. When I went to my doctor today to inquire about the numb-tingly feeling coupled with searing, sharp pain, she said it was too late for stitches. Fine by me. Though her claim of being "fairly confident" that there is no nerve damage was only slightly reassuring.

And then they had to give me a tetanus shot. And I only cried for, like, 3 or 4 minutes. Which is about a 2000% reduction in crying from that last time I got a shot. My mother would be so proud. I clearly remember her telling me (as she dragged me crying and screaming out of the clinic) that she was so ashamed that her 15 year old daughter cried and screamed louder than the 6 year old who was also getting shots. Also me demanding a sticker and balloon when that evil nurse was done with her black "medicine" magic was slightly embarrassing for her too. And honestly, mom, I think it was a little harsh when you said that I didn't deserve the "I was brave" sticker.