The Accident

Those of you who know us personally will remember that DH is a talented musician. I don't believe I've mentioned it here. Guitar, banjo, a little violin, harmonica, even piano when he feels like it. He was just born with music inside him, and when it comes out, he is most at peace with himself.
I remember many nights when Little One couldn't sleep, he grabbed his guitar, sat beside her bed, and played until she fell asleep. Lullabyes, classical, Beatles, anything soft and soothing.
Many winter nights as I washed dishes and she finished up her homework, he strapped the guitar around his neck and strolled around the house, playing for hours.
He never seems to tire of it.

Those of you who read this blog, but don't know us personally, will remember that he is a talented carpenter. While it doesn't take a lot of skill to knock down walls (having done it myself), it does take some to put them back up correctly, to re-engineer floor joists, ceiling beams, install crown molding, dismantle and rebuild old doors, take out the doorframes and put in all new wood -- you get the idea.

Well, musician and carpenter -- they are an ironic mix. A carpenter always has safety concerns in order to keep all his fingers intact. A musician needs those fingers.

You got it.

On Thursday afternoon, I presented our Centennial Park plans to the Advisory Board for City Parks. They asked questions and we answered. Finally, they voted with a resounding "Yes," in support of the park. Next step is presenting to City Council on the 20th. I arrived home at about 2:45. DH and NDN were in the garage door looking at something when I pulled in. Shared our good news with them and went upstairs to change clothes. I've been painting our screen door and it just needed one more coat before hanging it back up.

I was in the bedroom talking with Little One about her day and changing clothes at the same time. Suddenly, DH and NDN were shouting in the basement. Loudly running up basement stairs. I ran out in panties, socks and shirt. DH was holding a very bloody hand upright with the other. "OH GOD," he said, "We've got to go. I've cut my hand." NDN was right behind him. "I'll take him," he yelled.

I was trying to pull on my pants. "I'll take him -- you take Little One home with you." Grabbed my phone and keys and ran with DH out the kitchen door and down the stairs, pulling on my pants as I went.

The drive to the hospital took no more than five minutes, but in our memory, it took forever. Turning on my emergency flashers, I went as fast as I felt I could safely go. Hit every damned red light on the way. Finally, we began to hit some red lights that we could safely run. I lightly tapped my horn as I did so.

During all this, I prayed out loud. "Dear Lord," I began, "Thank you for this husband of mine. Please, Lord, protect him. Save him from losing too much blood. Please don't let him go into shock. Please have people ready who can take care of him. Thank you, Lord, for this man. Please save him for me. Thank you, God, Thank you, God, that you have promised you will answer our prayers." I was literally yelling at God -- the rush of adrenalin was so strong I couldn't recognize my own voice.

Having prayed first, I grabbed my cell phone and called 4-1-1. Luckily, I did not get the automated attendant recording that asks for the city of your request -- I got a live person. "Connect me directly to the Emergency Room at ** ** Medical Center!" I said, "Please don't say all the crap you're supposed to say -- just connect me!!" She complied and I was put straight through to the Emergency Room. "I am 3 minutes away from the hospital," I shouted at her. "My husband has severed at least one finger. Please have a triage team ready." She said one word, "OKAY!" and hung up on me.

During this conversation, DH inspected his fingers. Both his ring finger and pinkie were laying, bloody and limp, in the palm of his hand, pinkie on top. His pinkie looked like raw beef -- I couldn't see any skin anwhere. He calmly picked up what was left of his pinkie, lifted his ring finger to the upright position, and placed the remains of his pinkie back in his palm.

"Remember to breathe, Honey," I said. "Remember to breathe." He began deep breathing and said, "Honey, I'm going into another zone. I'm okay." He continued to breathe deeply and placed himself into a state of calm.

I pulled up to the ER door and the attendant took DH in a wheelchair and I left to park the car. Running across the street in my sock feet, I missed my shoes, but thought how glad I was that I got my pants on!

By the time I got inside, the team was busy cutting off DH's wedding band. It seems it had saved his finger. A Patient Advocate was there immediately to help me with anything I wanted. I asked her to contact one of our pastors.

The pastor was there in less than five minutes. He was incredible support to me, emotionally and physically. On occasion I would appear overcome and he would lean me against him. He prayed with us. He stayed with me through the whole ordeal -- which in the end was about 4 and 1/2 hours.

NDN arrived, bringing my shoes. Thank you. He was overcome with guilt, as DH was cutting a board for him when all this occurred. NDN was so fearful that DH would "hate him." Trying to convince him that we value his friendship and hate is just out of the question, was futile. He was overwhelmed with grief. Cried. I was unable to console him.

We were in the ER about 2 hours. In that time, they removed his ring (took 'way too long, hurt him 'way too much, and was the only thing my dear brave husband had to cry over), cleaned up the wounds, examined them, took the explanation of what happened, and x-rayed him. Once the x-rays were done the orthopedic "hand man" was called and he assessed the x-rays. He arrived at the same time the anesthesiologist came.

The surgeon explained that he was going to take the pinkie off. There was just not enough left to reconstruct well, he explained, and rather than have a stiff and useless finger there, it would be easier for DH to adapt if it were just gone.

The ring finger, though sliced up, was saved by his wedding band. The knuckle attaching that finger to the hand was crushed, though, and he would have to gather the bone fragments with a plate at the base of the finger.

The anesthesiologist explained he would not be using total anesthesia on DH, that instead, he would administer a "nerve block" in DH's shoulder that would totally deaden his arm and hand. This would not only prevent any feeling for DH, but would keep the hand totally still for the surgeon to perform his work. DH wanted to be involved in these decisions, having had a lot of choices removed from his control, and asked lots of questions about the block. "Please just say ok," I thought, "Please just go on and get to the operating room." Finally, he agreed to it.

DH signed the permission forms and they were off. Pastor and I headed to the "Surgical Family Support Center," where an older lady in a pink smock waited for us. Despite the hour, she remained there until everything was over. Surgery started about 5:30 and at 7:20, the surgeon came in to tell us everything was okay. He described the miniscule plate he applied at the base of the ring finger. The screws for this plate measure in at 1mm. He described the importance for DH to gently move that finger, which was bandaged to the tall finger for support, so that the damaged finger would not "bind up." He advised me to call for a Monday appointment for followup.

We are at home, now, and it's Saturday morning. We spent Thursday night at the hospital, where they administered huge doses of antibiotic, assuming the table saw was not sterile. (Good assumption.)

Yesterday is a blur of coming home, receiving guests, answering the phone, going out for prescription medication, trying to straighten up the house, helping dear one-handed husband (the other hand being all bandaged up and we don't want to bump it!).

It seems if we let that pain medication lapse at all, he will experience terrible pain. Fortunately, we learned that at the hospital when the nurses were slow in responding, so I have been aware of staying right on the clock with meds.

His pattern seems to be: several hours of good, positive, thoughts, followed by a flashback and remorse over having been careless. The good news is that he is communicating these feelings rather than internalizing them. By now, the periods of self-blame are becoming further and further apart.

For now, he is accepting my help very well, and the macho beast hasn't reared its head.

A few people have mentioned his guitar. It's the hardest thing for me to deal with, probably because I am afraid it will be so hard on him.

Everyone, universally, seems to need to tell us about everyone they know who has ever lost a digit. For some reason, it really tries my patience. I don't care about Uncle Homer's lost finger. We are in the middle of this and hearing about someone I don't know, doesn't help right now. Although I was able to be patient through the first re-telling of someone's relative who lost fingers, by now I have heard 10 or 15 similar stories and they wear thin. If you are reading this, please make a mental note: "Don't tell people of similar tragedies. It doesn't help."

The good news is: this man is incredibly strong. He knows the power of positive thinking. He has overcome all kinds of adversity in his life, and I know he will rise from this, too. In our short time together, (recently celebrated our 10th anniversary), we have experienced good things from each and every bad thing that has happened. This will hold true here, too.

Well, DH has waked up and is trying to make his own coffee. I should have made it earlier. Gotta dash--