I'm going to blame the fact that I had a bit too much of the local Lion beer at an expat dinner party last night as to I was so groggy this morning and ended up slicing my finger open while cutting a tomato. It happened so quick it took me a moment to realize it was cut, though the sight of my own blood quickly made the alarm bells ring. And there was A LOT of it. The first bandage I put on appeared to work well enough and I carried on cooking until I looked down at the kitchen floor and it was literally covered in blood...I hadn't noticed that the bandage was leaking and it happened all so quickly. That's when I started thinking that I may have to visit the hospital here and I just became exhausted thinking of the idea.
I've been racking up some quality time in hospitals overt the years in facilities ranging from what appeared to makeshift clinics in Afghanistan and shacks on Socotra Island to modern royal health services in Bahrain for a whole load of various reasons...but I still became nervous thinking about being jabbed with a needle here. I could be wrong, but I think the doctors and nurses who have witnessed gross atrocities including natural disaster and war would not understand my whining over a chopped finger. Luckily the house I live in had a well stocked first aid kit so I could patch together a bandage to keep my finger from dripping blood everywhere and eventually it stopped. The difficult thing about it was making sure it stayed clean...which isn't the easiest thing to do one handed, surrounded by kamikaze grasshoppers, sweating and having to find and use bottled water.
But it wad a success and I wad impressed at my MacGyver-like ingenuity. In the end I even made it to the beach and tied a plastic bag around it to prevent it from getting wet. My friends thought it would be good to put it in the sea water, but I staunchly refused. Glad all is in the clear as I travel to Vavuniya in the morning and REALLY don't want to have to think of going to the hospital there. My friend and roommate from back when I lived in Cairo is here and lives there...recently she chopped her hand accidentally on a ceiling fan and decided against seeking medical treatment--I think that in itself gives an idea of the medical facilities here. A little first aid training apparently goes a long way in the field.
I've been racking up some quality time in hospitals overt the years in facilities ranging from what appeared to makeshift clinics in Afghanistan and shacks on Socotra Island to modern royal health services in Bahrain for a whole load of various reasons...but I still became nervous thinking about being jabbed with a needle here. I could be wrong, but I think the doctors and nurses who have witnessed gross atrocities including natural disaster and war would not understand my whining over a chopped finger. Luckily the house I live in had a well stocked first aid kit so I could patch together a bandage to keep my finger from dripping blood everywhere and eventually it stopped. The difficult thing about it was making sure it stayed clean...which isn't the easiest thing to do one handed, surrounded by kamikaze grasshoppers, sweating and having to find and use bottled water.
But it wad a success and I wad impressed at my MacGyver-like ingenuity. In the end I even made it to the beach and tied a plastic bag around it to prevent it from getting wet. My friends thought it would be good to put it in the sea water, but I staunchly refused. Glad all is in the clear as I travel to Vavuniya in the morning and REALLY don't want to have to think of going to the hospital there. My friend and roommate from back when I lived in Cairo is here and lives there...recently she chopped her hand accidentally on a ceiling fan and decided against seeking medical treatment--I think that in itself gives an idea of the medical facilities here. A little first aid training apparently goes a long way in the field.
