It’s amazing to me that one single moment can create such change in a life. I was cooking for Easter, for a family gathering. I hopped on to Facebook while waiting for the buzzer on the double chocolate bundt cake, commenting that I loved cooking, bread rising and waiting its turn in the oven. How it was almost a perfect day.
Within five minutes of entering those words on my status, I knew I was in trouble. I went to reach for my bread loaf pan, holding a stack of other pans. One of which fell and, being a large glass pan meeting a tile floor, shattered into a lot of pieces, large and small. And in that moment before pain and blood hit, I looked at my finger and saw bad things.
Being me, and worried about my cat, I of course swept up as much of the mess as I could, hand wrapped in a clean dishtowel quickly grabbed from the drawer. My husband, bless his heart, asked if I was ok. I said, “No.” That’s when he knew things were bad, because I’m never that simple in my answers. Since he doesn’t drive, I grabbed another towel and we headed to urgent care, a few miles away, who promptly redirected us to the ER, which of course was eight miles in the opposite direction. I’m still not sure how we pulled that off.
Long story short, I cut my right-hand ring finger, just above where finger meets palm, severing both tendons in my finger in the process. The hand surgeon and his intern both said I was very lucky because somehow I did all that without hitting a single nerve — not a one!
Did I mention that I’m right-handed? That I have few left-hand skills of any note? That I’m not used to being the person who needs help? That I have fabulous friends who are willing to change their lives to accommodate helping us with driving, cooking, spirit-lifting, and loads of other things that need rearranging? And that I’m slowly learning to adapt…..
So here I am, almost two weeks later. One week post-op. On my third cast, and waiting to go for my second physical therapy session. My world in a cast is almost half done, but I’ll be sporting this one for the rest of May. Physical therapy will go 3 to 6 months, depending on how quickly I heal.
And I’m back here, with you. Thanks for sticking with me! I’ve missed our conversations, and I have so appreciated your kind words here and in email.
You are the flowers on my journey, the blue skies in my life.