Why didn't I act rationally when I cut myself badly?

[elfkin477]

Stupid childhood injuries came up briefly at work today, and I've been wondering this...

A couple weeks before I turned 13, I cut myself rather badly. I still have a one-inch scar across the base of my thumb, and several itty bitty scars along it where the threads went in.

This cut was bad enough to require 7 stitches, but it took me 45 minutes of applying pressure and hoping for the best before I decided to call my mother and tell her. Even then I was still convinced that it was going to stop bleeding "soon," and tried to convince her that she didn't need to come home and take me to the hospital. I didn't even tell my brother, who I was babysitting, that there was anything wrong until after I called her. I think he actually noticed that the towel I was holding was bloody rather than me calling attention to it.

Now, given that I called her, I must have realized on some level that it wasn't magically going to stop bleeding. But why was I trying to convince myself it would? Because twelve-year-olds are immature, or because injuries cloud your thinking? I always assumed the former, but maybe that's not it entirely. Do adults act this way when injured sometimes too?

[Fetchund]

I did a similar thing when I was a kid, but I know darn well why. I was terrified of needles, and the idea of stitches nearly made me pass out.

[Can Handle the Truth]

I have heard it said that in times of intense stress, your IQ falls about 30 points. I don't have a cite.

[kunilou]

That's okay. I did the same thing when I was in my 30s. The next day, when it was still raw, open and bleeding, I finally went to the ER. They told me it was too late for stitches and I'd have to let it heal by itself. It took weeks and I still have the scar.

[seenidog]

When I was 16 I had some major surgery on my knee. The day after I got home from the hospital I woke up in my normal bed (instead of a hospital bed) and without thinking rolled over and stood up, but not for long. I ripped out a lot of stitches. (but almost no blood). I fell back on the bed. I had pain killers on the head board, took some, and then lay there for a while. After they kicked in and I looked at it I could see bone, it dawned on my I was hurt and I screamed bloody murder! I think shock had a lot to do with why I did not think to call for help right away. Just a personal observation.

[Eureka]

I vote for major injury messing with your brain. (Idiocy related to youth may have been a complicating factor.)

In college I went roller skating one evening. I fell and broke my arm. I knew at once I was in pain like I'd never suffered before. But, I didn't really believe I was badly hurt. I was so focused on getting over to where it was safe, that I almost caused a pile-up (with me on the bottom) by skating in front of fast moving skaters, but a friend who saw me fall grabbed me by the broken arm and held on to me until it was safe to cross.

Another friend got me a bag of ice, and after 15 minutes or so I tried skating again--found that my wrist hurt more when it swung. I'm not sure I believed yet that I should go to a doctor. Then I noticed a bump on my wrist, that did not appear on my other wrist. I pointed this out to others, one of whom said "Dave, drive her to the hospital at once, do not pass go, do not collect $200" (OK, not a direct quote). I persuaded people that I should go back to campus and pick up my insurance card, and that really, i only needed one friend to drive me to the hospital. she took me, they processed me, they asked if I could possibly be pregnant, they x-rayed me, splinted me, and sent me home. Friend took me home. I called Dave, he agreed to take me back the next day to be casted. Doctor told me that I had a non-dislocated radial stibneal fracture.

That means two things. One, I would have healed (probably) without medical attention. It would have taken longer, hurt more, and gotten me less sympathy from professors and other people who knew me. given that I broke my right arm, the dominant arm, this would have been a bad thing.

Secondly, the radius is the lower arm bone that is closer to the thumb. I broke that bone where it gets wide at the wrist joint.

I think there is a tendency (sometimes) to want to deny pain as an indicator of serious injury. it probably happens with bleeding as well.

Another (hopefully shorter) anecdote. Dad had 2 or 3 gallbladder attacks. Mom said he should have his gallbladder out. Dad said "Someday". Dad had an attack which turned into pancreatittis and a week in the hospital, completely out of it, on scary high doses of antibiotic and painkiller. Doctor said "You need to have the gallbladder out" Dad said "How soon can you schedule surgery"

I think the will to believe that one will heal without needing medical care can be very strong.

[Marlitharn]

I had suffered some lower back pain for about a week, the kind where it hurts to straighten up so I was walking around like Quasimodo. Didn't want to go to the doctor. Don't like doctors. It was fine, it would work out on its own, ibuprofen would take care of it, couldn't afford the co-pay, blah blah blah.

Then one afternoon I woke up in so much pain I couldn't get out of bed. Husband had to help me get dressed and take me to the ER, where they gave me blessed, blessed Valium and a muscle relaxer, X-rayed me, found nothing wrong, and sent me home with Percoset and more muscle relaxers and orders to stay in bed for three days. I don't remember much of that three days, but I'm told I had a long conversation with a friend's answering machine while she was out of town.

I think it's all just denial. A major injury is such a hassle to deal with, you want to believe it's not that bad so you don't have to deal with it.

[outlierrn]

don't know about you, but in my house you'd better have a damn good reason for pestering the parental units. I know I waited longer than I should for that reason alone once or twice

[Future Londonite]

I fell and spliced my ulna from elbow to wrist in my right arm (Ulna is the other bone in your lower arm) during recess when I was 8yo. Went back to class, held my arm as still as I could till end of day. Didn't go to a doctor till 5 hours later when my mother asked me why I wasn't using my right arm. Doctor told us to go straight to the hospital where they set my arm and put it in a cast.

When I was 10 I ran into a barbed wire fence at my great-aunts and had a 6 inch slash running from my belybuton to my side. She slapped a 8inch strip of bandaid on it and that was it. Never saw a doctor or anything. A year later I had to go to a doctor for something unrelated, he noticed the scar, asked what happened and told me it would have required numerous stitches. To this day I still have a line of 'wild' flesh from my bellybutton to my side.

Two years ago I sliced my left index finger with a tomato-knife. Didn't find any bandaids (I was staying at a friends) and use his mothers tampon as a makeshift bandaid. Went to the doctor two days later (accident happened on a Saturday). He told me I should have come straight away for stitches, as well as showing around the other doctors and nurses that I used a tampon as a bandaid. To this day I'm still being remembered of that when I have to visit my doctor.

[DianaG]

A few years ago I cut my palm near my thumb pretty deeply while trying to pry open a can of coffee with a knife (yes, that was really, really stupid).

My boyfriend convinced me several hours later to go to the emergency room, and while the doctor was rinsing coffee grounds out of the wound, he asked me what the hell I'd been doing for the four hours in between.

"Well... first, I made some coffee..."

[Magiver]

Stupid childhood injuries came up briefly at work today, and I've been wondering this...

A couple weeks before I turned 13, I cut myself rather badly. I still have a one-inch scar across the base of my thumb, and several itty bitty scars along it where the threads went in.

This cut was bad enough to require 7 stitches, but it took me 45 minutes of applying pressure and hoping for the best before I decided to call my mother and tell her. Even then I was still convinced that it was going to stop bleeding "soon," and tried to convince her that she didn't need to come home and take me to the hospital. I didn't even tell my brother, who I was babysitting, that there was anything wrong until after I called her. I think he actually noticed that the towel I was holding was bloody rather than me calling attention to it.

Now, given that I called her, I must have realized on some level that it wasn't magically going to stop bleeding. But why was I trying to convince myself it would? Because twelve-year-olds are immature, or because injuries cloud your thinking? I always assumed the former, but maybe that's not it entirely. Do adults act this way when injured sometimes too? My guess is that you were supposed to be in charge (as babysitter) and you didn't want anyone to know you screwed up. 45 minutes to decide if you REALLY needed stitches isn't a total failure of the situation since it was probably your first exposure to a relatively small wound. Had it been your brother your decision time should have been a lot shorter.

The last time I needed stitches I waited (debated) for an hour. More for the inconvenience of going to an after-hours clinic and answering stupid questions than for any other reason.

[tremorviolet]

I think part of it is not wanting to feel stupid for making a big deal out of something that may turn out to be nothing.

It happened to me when I broke my foot in a rowing accident. I kept saying I was fine but they made me go to the emergency room. And the wait there was so long, I kept trying to leave 'cause surely broken bones hurt more and it was just a sprain. I was wrong about that and wound up in a cast for two months.

[gigi]

I actually did the reverse, in that I got a small cut that gaped* and I immediately went to my neighbors and they gave me a ride to the hospital. I did actually need stitches, but I certainly could have driven myself or at least tried to patch it up on my own. I also got a good-sized cut on my palm as a kid and ran right to the teachers; it was the school nurse who waited till my parents got there for them to take a look and then take my for stitches.

Not bothering my hospital-phobic pop was a factor when I was a kid. I had to finally get my mom to walk me to the hospital for help with my broken fingers a day later.


*freaky thing. I shut my trunk and knocked my hand a little. It stung but then I looked down and saw more blood than usual and kind of could see inside my hand. I blame it on the point of the V in Civic.

[No Power In The 'Verse]

A few years ago or so I cut the tip of my index finger off with a mandolin (the vegetable slicer not the instrument) and thought a band-aid would do the trick…three seconds later when blood was pouring down my arm I decided otherwise. My mom called a nurse she worked with for advice and it was decided there was no way to stitch it up because by that time she had found the tip of my finger in the bowl of vegetables. I just sat calmly for an hour or so with a bag of ice in my hand to slow down the circulation before it stopped bleeding into the roll of paper towels I was holding. I still have no fingerprint there, it’s a sweet scar.

[ivylass]

Shock and denial. Age has nothing to do with it. About eight years ago, Ivylad was attacked outside the house in SC while he was bringing in groceries. Two guys worked him over but good.

I was living in FL with my new job, and he was to follow after he was done with the college semester. It took him three days to call me, and that only because the cut on his face wasn't scabbing over. He needed stitches. I drove up with his mother, and he spent two days in the hospital.

The police were right angry with him for not reporting it sooner, because they would never be able to catch the guys.

[IvoryTowerDenizen]

When I was a junior in high school I came down with chicken pox.

All week I knew I was sick, but I kept going to class, even with a low-grade fever, infecting people in my wake. I could not be sick, finals were coming up.

I woke up Friday early with a "pimple" on my chin. I never got pimples. Not one during high school. I knew I was sick with chicken pox, but I refused to beleive it. Went to school. Infected more people. Took my Latin final.

Next day (the day of the SATs, no less) I had a 104F fever and was ungodly sick. Didn't make to the SATs.

Denial is powerful thing.

[IvoryTowerDenizen]

When I was a junior in high school I came down with chicken pox.

All week I knew I was sick, but I kept going to class, even with a low-grade fever, infecting people in my wake. I could not be sick, finals were coming up.

I woke up Friday early with a "pimple" on my chin. I never got pimples. Not one during high school. I knew I was sick with chicken pox, but I refused to beleive it. Went to school. Infected more people. Took my Latin final.

Next day (the day of the SATs, no less) I had a 104F fever and was ungodly sick. Didn't make it to the SATs.

Denial is powerful thing.

[Moirai]

Shock, probably.

I shock out really quickly, which makes it dangerous for me if I'm hurt and alone- luckily it hasn't happened yet.

Each time I have been seriously hurt, I went into shock startlingly fast- within a couple of minutes or less. It meant that I was disconnected from what was happening to some degree, I was unable to gauge the seriousness of the situation, and my vitals went a bit nutty.

[Dragonblink]

A counter-anecdote -- when I cut my foot badly (damn near lopped off a toe), I was the most rationally acting person involved.

As I am normally a good Boy Scout type, to this day I have no idea how the knife ended up in my foot. It didn't even hurt -- I felt the impact, pulled the knife back, saw blood and lots of. So I put the knife down and applied pressure to the wound with my hands, and when the bleeding didn't slow I called for my then-boyfriend to grab me some paper towels.

He was one of those guys who makes a big show of being macho/manly/worldly etc, and he freaked the hell out. Meanwhile, I hopped up the back stairs into the kitchen and put my foot under the tap to clean it. My mom came in to see what was wrong, so I said "I cut myself pretty bad. I think you'll need to drive me to the hospital for some stitches." She seemed to be in that Mom mode of "scared to death cuz kid is injured, but have to be a good mom and be on top of the situation." We made a pressure bandage with a handkerchief and headed off.

I was totally calm and rational. I mean really, what was the worst that would happen? I'd get sewn up and it would hurt. BFD. Just keep applying pressure, keep it elevated, no biggie.

And then, after I calmly told the nurse I had a large cut on my foot, she peeled off the handkerchief and went "JESUS!! :eek: " I think maybe since I was so calm she figured it was actually a very small cut.

The doctor also seemed kind of rattled for some reason. Not sure why. That's when I learned what stitches feel like when they don't let the anaesthetic kick in before starting to sew. The doctor got even more rattled at the idea that he was sewing up someone who could feel every stitch. I think he put in one less stitch than the cut actually needed -- one end of it gaped a little and took forever to heal.

What a long rambling post. To sum up:
Macho boyfriend: freaking out
Mom: scared
Nurse: "JESUS!! :eek: "
Doctor: nervous and rushed
Me: "Hmm, I seem to have cut myself rather badly. Better get that sewn up. Oh well."

And when I got home I commenced the task of scrubbing the blood off the driveway. Felt like Lady Macbeth, I did. :D

[rivulus]

Sometimes it's difficult to tell how bad something is. I'm thinking of minor, superficial cuts that bleed profusely -- serious horror show gushing -- versus a fairly deep puncture I had once that didn't bleed much at all.

But what really stands out in my mind was a case of food poisoning I had last year. I felt flu-like, with fever and various digestive tract symptoms, but didn't bother going to the doctor for several days until I started to worry about dehydration. I felt like crap, but I've felt bad before and recovered just fine. When I did go to the doctor, I was sent straight to the hospital and checked in for a few days. Let's just say I was finally clued in by the tone of voice the doctors used when they scanned my gut ("Wow that's really inflamed in there") and the quizzing of multiple health officials.

On the other hand, I've had feelings of "illness" arising as the psychosomatic offshoot of serious depression that felt a whole lot worse than the food poisoning symptoms. So psychological subjectivity definitely plays a part in deciding how bad an injury or illness is. Worry that I might be overreacting certainly influenced my perception of how sick I felt during the food poisoning episode and my choice to wait to seek medical attention.

[Rilchiam]

When I was 11 or so, I burned myself pretty badly in the kitchen. So what did I do? Ran to the downstairs bathroom, fifty feet away, to run cold water on my arm. As opposed to the sink that was two feet behind me.

My arm healed without incident, fortunately; the delay of ten seconds or so made no appreciable difference. But it was when I was putting gauze on it that I had my :smack: moment. Until then, I just had it ingrained in me that the bathroom is where the medicine cabinet is, so that's where you go for all injuries.

[Kythereia]

Google-fu fails me on the IQ-dropping-30-points thing; most of the cites come up with head injuries and losses of 15 to 20 points. Any idea where you heard it, Can Handle the Truth?

[MaddyStrut]

It was probably many things. I know for me (when I was a kid) fear of parental wrath was worse than any silly injury.

When I was about 7, I burned myself pretty badly and lied to my parents about it. We were putting up Christmas tree lights and blew a fuse (back in the stone ages when houses still had fuse boxes). Mom went down to change it and told us not to mess with the tree lights. Of course, what did I do once she went downstairs? Tried to plug in the lights.

I have no idea why the act of changing a fuse at the same time as plugging in tree lights resulted in what it did. All I know is a blue flame shot out of the electrical socket, burning up my right hand, singing off my eyebrows (which have never fully grown back), and burning much of my hair.

Mom immediately noticed that something was horribly wrong and rushed upstairs. Where she was hit with the aroma of burned child. That tends to freak mothers out. She asked what had happened and I (being the honest, truthful, responsible kid that seven year olds are known to be) said my brother did it. Then I rushed off to the bathroom to rinse my hand under cold water.

Mom checked out my brother for burns and noticed nothing. At the same time, she noticed that the charred child smell was now coming from the bathroom. She walked in on me and saw the lovely sight of me with singed off eyebrows, a burned hand, and wild, electrified hair.

What did I do? Kept insisting it wasn't me.

[ivylass]

At the time this happened, Ivygirl was 12. As in, Chatterbox/Everything is a Crisis/Screaming When She Stubs Her Toe/ 12 year old.

I was at work and Ivylad was laying down when Ivygirl was cutting an orange. She decided to cut this orange with a butcher knife. Yes, she sliced her finger quite nicely.

She didn't scream, she didn't yell, all she did was say "Oh," and whisper to her brother to come over. They then proceeded to tiptoe into the bedroom to wake Ivylad.

She needed two stitches in her finger, right where the knuckles is.

[ivylass]

Oh, I remember a time when I was little, maybe 5 or so. I think it was Valentine's Day at school, and my mother was going to help my address Valentines to my classmates.

She had just taken a kettle off the stove burner and had taken her tea into the living room. The burner wasn't red anymore, and I put my hand flat on the burner.

Yes, it hurt, but I was afraid my mother would be mad at me and not help me with my Valentines, so I didn't tell her.

[ratatoskK]

Maybe it's a good thing from an evolutionary perspective. If you're injured badly you shouldn't just roll around on the ground feeling sorry for yourself. You have to get out of danger quickly, even if you're hurt or injured. There will be time later on to nurse your wounds.

Of course, given that we are now "civilized" and have doctors and hospitals, that behavior isn't always the smartest thing.

[slaphead]

cut the tip of my index finger off with a mandolin
Ahhh, the mandolin. Every single person I have ever encountered who has used one of those things has given themselves at least one severe injury with it. I have never used one, and if I do I will make sure to wear chainmail gloves.
Best ever was a TV clip of some Chef show:
"And now I'm going to quickly slice this up with a mandolin. I like these because they give nice thin slices really quickly and easily. They have a reputation for being dangerous [smiles at camera] but if you're careful there's really nothing to worry about. All you..." :eek: [gawps down at copious blood pouring from finger]

My best effort was when I was about 8 and decided to help my parents by sharpening the scythe with a kitchen steel. Swish, swish, swish, swish, splatter, swish, splatter, oh, I seem to be bleeding everywhere from my middle finger. Ooops.
Mum won't be impressed with my lack of brains, better not tell her. She's still kinda cranky about that whole cutting off my thumb thing and that was YEARS ago. It'll stop on its own. Soon. Anytime now. Or at any rate, it'll stop spurting so much. I feel kind woozy. [sigh] Oh well, guess I'd better 'fess up.
"Mum, my finger's bleeding..." I still have the scar a quarter-century later. On my finger, that is. Mum didn't give me any scars, just bruises.

Basically, I think the denial explanation is pretty much spot-on. People have this instinct that tells them 'Nah, it can't be bad, because then it would mean that I am seriously injured, and bad things don't relly happen to me, they happen to others. It's just a minor thing." People aren't very rational about applying facts to themselves. Hence they refuse to believe that their diet will give them a heart attack, that they will die unless they take that silly little pill every day, that smoking will fuck them up royally, that they are not the only person in the world who can drive safely after six drinks, etc.

[gigi]

Ahhh, the mandolin. Every single person I have ever encountered who has used one of those things has given themselves at least one severe injury with it. I have never used one, and if I do I will make sure to wear chainmail gloves.A friend was at a gathering where she mentioned that her son was selling Cutco knives. Simulatenously everyone she was talking to held up whatever body part had gotten cut with one of the supersharp Cutco products.

[Cervaise]

Ahhh, the mandolin. Every single person I have ever encountered who has used one of those things has given themselves at least one severe injury with it.I've been lucky so far. Maybe I should display in my kitchen one of those "X days since major accident" signs.