If you are squeamish, click away now. So far I’ve resisted sharing images of my stitches, but I can resist no longer. I’ll save the images for below so you can get away now (if need be).
See, one of two hinge pins securing the fill hole cover in the lid of our ten-year old Brita filter gave up the ghost today. In a fit of super cleaning the thing, I tried to remove the fill hole cover. I hoped it was designed to be clicked in and out. It was certainly clicked into place during the initial assembly, but the old plastic didn’t survive a second trip.
Doesn’t look too bad. It will almost certainly never break again. The wire is galvanized and the pin looks like hardened steel, so while the wire may not rust, the pin probably will. No matter, though, as the whole repaired assembly isn’t in or near the water. I don’t think rust is hazardous anyway, but the whole idea of a water filter is to give the illusion of clean water. New York’s water is so good straight out the pipes, I’ve wondered why I bother at all. Now that I have invested time and energy fixing the thing, I will surely keep at the filtering process for a decade or so more.
Why I performed and documented this repair with my hand uncovered in mid-heal is beyond me. It is part of my makeup (to become focused on a project and forget everything but). For instance, it is totally within my character to find myself with a brush and an open can of paint doing some touch up when I notice I am wearing a brand new suit. I know I should stop, but I don’t. Maybe it is genetic. When I disclosed my injury to my parents, at my request my mother retold the story of her most significant injury. As a child, she was jumping off a ramped cattle loading chute with a stick in her hand. Upon landing the stick went through her ankle. In one side and out the other. My mother and grandmother waited for my grandpa to come home, at which point he pulled the stick out with a pliers and topically treated the area with some antibiotic on hand (I wished it was a bottle of whisky, but the story doesn’t really need improvement) and declared her good. He was right. It functions without pain. Marks on each side of her leg are still visible. Ghoulish, but telling. I have some big shoes to fill in the universe of home doctoring.
Dr. Jonathan S. Halpert at Prime Care Urgent Care did a good job on the stitches (thanks again, Doc!), but he was wrong when he remarked that I would no longer get jobs as a hand model. If I have learned one thing from the internet, it is that there is an audience for every image. I just hope that today I haven’t chased away my existing readers!
Time to wrap the hand, put it into a rubber glove, secure the opening with a sweatband and take a shower. Why I go to such great lengths to care for the hand in the shower (a place of clean water and soap), yet undertake a repair using old rusty pliers and sharp metal wire… I am just repeating myself now. Forgive me this habit of the old.
Take better care of yourself than I care for myself (or take as good care of yourself as I do my $20 Brita pitcher). Bye.