Pins and Needles

Chapter 16

It was the middle of the night when I jolted awake. A vivid nightmare had struck once again, refusing me the privilege of a good night's sleep. My breathing was uneven and my forehead was drenched with sweat. I pushed a hand through my hair, trying to alleviate some of the ragged hairs that clung to my skin. After doing so, I moved to put my hand down, but noticed the jarring tremor it presented. I shoved it down into my covers and closed my mouth; I was significantly startled by how shaken up I was. Even though the whole funeral instance had happened yesterday, I was still being haunted for whatever reason.

I got out of bed and leant against my desk, attempting to convince myself that Mom's actions shouldn't have had this much of an effect on me. I needed to get a hold of myself; these restless nights were going to get old really quick if I didn't get a grip. I took a few deep breaths before moving back to my bed, unfortunately, I couldn't get very far as I hit a fork in the road. By fork I mean piece of glass, and by road I mean my foot. I winced, instantly picking up my leg and hopping the rest of the way to inspect the damage. The bed sunk underneath me as I plopped down on top of it and clicked on the bedside lamp. Blood could be seen seeping down from the wound and dripping onto the hardwood. The glass piece was much bigger than expected as it spanned a good 25% of my foot. I braced myself for what was to come, then held tight onto the piece and pulled. It was a slow, grueling process that I couldn't look at. My face was scrunched up and turned to the side as I removed the glass from my body. I had to bite my lip to prevent screaming, but after it was out and over with, I let out a huge breath I didn't know I was holding. I took a good look at the glass; it was wide and pointed and definitely large enough for me to need stitches.

My first option was to go to the hospital, but it was quickly ruled out when I looked up how much it was. Stitches could cost anywhere from $150 to $3,000 and considering the fact that my wound was no small gash, I knew that a $150 bill was not likely. My second option was to wrap the bad boy up and just pray that it healed naturally, but once again, that was not ideal. I wasn't willing to risk bleeding out, so I opted for option 3 which was the DIY stitch kit. A makeshift suture without the proper materials was definitely not smart, but it was the only halfway decent route that didn't involve possible death to me or my bank account (especially since mom and I hadn't looked at, much less, picked up Dad's life insurance benefits).

I hopped over to the bathroom and looked through the medicine cabinet to grab the first aid kit. I sat down on the toilet with it and bundled up some toilet paper on my foot to stop it from leaking. Some blood had gotten on the tile, so I swiped it up, then opened the kit. There were two large patches, a medical bandage roll, band-aids, and mini scissors inside. I grabbed one of the patches and put it on my foot to keep it covered and clean. I pulled out my phone to look up stitching kits, but there were none in stores as google said the proper medical supplies were only allowed in hospitals. Google was a liar, though, because I found some on Amazon, but that was still useless because the shipping time was too long. I needed to fix this thing now and I needed to do it quickly.

"This sucks," I said, then sprung into action.

I pulled together the things needed for stitching and dropped them into the kitchen. I did everything as quietly as possible and carried the supplies in small quantities since my foot couldn't handle all the pressure.

I searched the cupboards for a small pot and once I came across it, I slowly filled it halfway with water. Placing the pot on the stove, I cranked the heat to its highest setting and waited for it to start to boil. Once that began, I carefully dropped my sewing needle into the water to sterilize it and set a timer for 30 minutes. I made sure my ringer was as low as necessary while still being audible before creeping outside to the shed. There was a box of tight-fitting latex gloves on one of the shelves that I grabbed for the sewing process itself. A bottle of bleach caught my eye as I was about to leave, so I grabbed it as well just in case the floors needed some cleaning.

My phone rang out indicating that the 30 minutes was up, so I got up from the couch, limped over to the stove, and turned it off. I let the water cool down a bit before dumping it into the sink and avoiding letting the needle fall with it. Once most of the water was gone, I gloved my hands and prodded the needle out of the pot. It fell into my palm, and I placed it down onto a clean dish towel to dry. I then carried the needle to my bedroom and placed it on my desk, still with the towel underneath it. I quickly doubled back into the kitchen, cleaned the mess, and brought the rest of the supplies to my room. There were still a few neglected pieces of glass and dirt on my floor, so I swept them aside to make room for myself. I finally picked up both the needle and thread and stealthily poked the string through the tiny hole on the tool and tied it at the end. Right before I started, I realised I was missing a key ingredient to this whole ordeal: ice. It wasn't the perfect numbing device, but I needed something, so it would have to do.

I held the ice on my now exposed foot for a while, knowing that I was just delaying the inevitable. I couldn't feel the cold a long time ago, but I was really stressed about doing this, so it felt almost impossible to take the pack away. Nevertheless, I put the ice down and replaced it with the needle and thread. Everything was set. There was no turning back now. I shakily held the towel the needle sat on up to my mouth and bit down on it. My heart was pounding, but my breath was calm as I forced myself to exhale and inhale correctly. After a minute or two of contemplating doing this, I noticed my foot was warming up, so I sucked up my fear and jumped into it.

The pain was indescribable. I couldn't breathe or scream, not because of the towel, but because of the amount of energy I was losing just sticking the needle into my skin. Blood continuously poured from my foot as I squeezed my skin together with the stitches. I was aiming to do an X-stitch and while I did, it was incredibly unprofessional looking. I suppose it didn't help that my body was so shaky and every time I pierced the needle into my flesh, I jumped. I had to watch the thread pull through my foot and every now and then it would get caught. This would lead to me pulling on it harder and just causing more anguish. Unfortunately, sewing up a bear was a lot easier than sewing up a human foot, my foot at that. The amount of times my thumb slipped on the fountain of blood and pressed into the wound was outrageous. With almost every tug and push this would happen; it was tiring. By the end, I was honestly quite numb to the pain and was eager for it to be over. This was obvious in the pattern of the suture; the first rows are a little looser than the ones at the end. My tie off, however, was nothing short of a disaster. I couldn't figure out where the loop was and would miss it numerous times. I got so frustrated that I yanked the thread, forgetting what was attached to the other side. I had to take a 5 minute break after that. Thankfully, I tried a second time and succeeded without a stingy blow up resulting in unintentional self harm.

I wiped tears and snot from my face, then spat the towel out only to be greeted with a sore and chittering jaw. I ignored that and instead took notice of the real star of the show: my foot. The stitches were scarily uneven and sloppy, but they looked stable enough to walk on. I got up and limped out of my room to my mom's, peeking in to make sure she was still asleep. When I saw she was, I relaxed and returned my focus to cleaning up.

I bandaged up my foot to be sure that if the stitches did break, I wouldn't bleed all over the place. Next, I threw away the extra thread on the needle, cleaned the needle, and put away all of those supplies. I decided against cleaning the extra dirt and glass that night and instead saved it for the next day; I had enough to worry about already. Sadly, there was dried blood on the hardwood, so I put the bleach to work on that. There was a significantly lighter color to the wood spots when I finished, but I solved that problem by shifting my rug to cover those areas as well. I put the bleach back in the shed and closed the door to my room, analyzing what I had just done. I fell back onto my bed and glanced down on my covered foot. I was proud of myself for taking the initiative in that situation and handling it as well as I could. I shifted onto my side, turned off my lamp, and closed my eyes with a strong exhale.

Things should get better from here. They have to.