Warning: the following post has some graphic blister shots, so if you have a sensitive stomach, or don’t want to see my fluid-filled wound, then skip this post:)
One day, a couple weeks ago, I was working on a wedding dress (it’s currently at 80% and I can’t wait to finish and show you!) The dress fitting had gone swimmingly, and I sewed in the zipper, confident of a good fit. Because of some piping along the waistline, the zipper was tough to zip. Really tough. Like, it almost didn’t zip except for my sheer will. For some reason, instead of trying to problem-solve the piping, I assumed that I could “break it in” by zipping it over and over and over. So, that’s what I did. I zipped that zipper until my finger felt raw. Then I zipped some more. After a second fitting, where I had the same trouble zipping, I finally decided that I needed to make some changes to the dress to ensure a smooth zip. But, by then it was too late. I had zipped a friction blister right onto my finger.
After about two days with the blister annoying me, I decided to let it drain (I mean, I am a nurse, after all. I can do these things:) I sterilized a needle, slid it into the very base of the blister, used a clean cotton ball to drain the fluid, squirted a line of Neosporin on there and wrapped it in a band-aid. The next morning it was full again, and bigger. I followed the same procedure, and the next morning it was full again, and bigger. And red. And hot. And throbbing. So, at midnight before we left for the beach, I hit up the ER. I assumed they would prescribe an antibiotic for the infection and send me on my way. Which they did, but not without telling me to come back in 2 days and wrapping my finger in this very impressive bandage:
Great. End of story, right?
Well, until the next day when, even on antibiotics, the blister was full, and bigger, and red, hot and painful.
What had begun a typical half-inch diameter blister now was over an inch long and spanned from one side of my zipper-happy finger to the other. What was going on? I continued to take the antibiotics, clean and dress it the way the doctor had instructed, but by the time we got home from the beach on Friday night, I had a serious-looking wound on my finger.
Eeewww, right? My finger was being slowly taken over by what I imagined to be tiny flesh-eating bacteria. I decided to leave the bandage off Friday night, to see if that would help it dry out and shrink at all. My follow up at the ER was scheduled for Saturday.
Saturday morning I hit up the ER once again. It felt a little silly to wander in, healthy-looking grown woman with a finger with a band aid on it. Under that band aid, however, was lurking a blister that was now almost two-inches long, puffy, pus-filled, hot and tender, with a halo of bright red infection. And I had been on antibiotics for two days. What does that mean? MRSA. Methicillin-resistant Staphyloccocus aureus. I had learned all about it in nursing school, this super bacteria that had morphed to allow survival when fought with typical antibiotics. The Nurse Midwife looked at my blister, then called the doctor to come look at my blister, who in turn called the infectious disease specialist at home to ask what to do. They ended up taking a sample of the fluid by puncturing it with a huge needle, and prescribing an antibiotic specifically formulated to treat super-bacteria like MRSA.
Well, the new antibiotic seems to have done it’s thing. The infection disappeared and just a little bruising and a vacuumed-looking skin sack remained. I kept it bandaged for another couple days (hence the one unpolished nail).
Then, finally two days ago, the dead skin ripped off with one of the bandages. Like my niece would say, “It’s turning into finger again.” I have about three more days on meds, then I should be in the clear. It’s all downhill from here! And so will end the most ridiculous injury I’ve ever incurred.
