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No more thread-head!
May. 29th, 2009 05:13 pmMid-day I went back to the E.R. to get my stitches out. This all went fine, other than the 40-minute wait and the mild bleeding. (The stitches were tiny, and I had healed "too well.")
The kind of creepy aspect is that during intake they ask if you feel threatened in your home. Given that a lot of the research I do is directly involved in convincing health care providers to ask questions about broader issues, you'd think it wouldn't bother me. Apparently, though, my injury must have seemed suspicious. On Saturday I kept getting vibes that the nurse thought I was hiding something, and I'd been thinking about it ever since then. Today, when another nurse was removing the stitches, she raised the topic of how they're required to ask this stuff, and how it takes, on average, seven times for domestic violence victims to be asked about it before they'll admit it. I mean, it's possible that she was just making conversation, so I told her in turn how my colleague JG had applied for a grant to help encourage this sort of domestic violence intervention in dental offices, which unfortunately didn't get funded.
But still, I mean, I'm a life-long klutz, and it's not at all surprising that I would trip on some steps and hurt myself. Yet three miles away a cloud of suspicion descends on poor mild-mannered R., who was sitting there placidly looking at pictures of flowers on his computer, fer-god's-sakes.
(By the way, it's 88° outside!)
The kind of creepy aspect is that during intake they ask if you feel threatened in your home. Given that a lot of the research I do is directly involved in convincing health care providers to ask questions about broader issues, you'd think it wouldn't bother me. Apparently, though, my injury must have seemed suspicious. On Saturday I kept getting vibes that the nurse thought I was hiding something, and I'd been thinking about it ever since then. Today, when another nurse was removing the stitches, she raised the topic of how they're required to ask this stuff, and how it takes, on average, seven times for domestic violence victims to be asked about it before they'll admit it. I mean, it's possible that she was just making conversation, so I told her in turn how my colleague JG had applied for a grant to help encourage this sort of domestic violence intervention in dental offices, which unfortunately didn't get funded.
But still, I mean, I'm a life-long klutz, and it's not at all surprising that I would trip on some steps and hurt myself. Yet three miles away a cloud of suspicion descends on poor mild-mannered R., who was sitting there placidly looking at pictures of flowers on his computer, fer-god's-sakes.
(By the way, it's 88° outside!)