Progress

Last night I had originally intended to write about DH's progress minus one finger. I got diverted, however, by the presence of the grey cat on the keyboard. Ah, a new dawn rises, said cat is hidden in a closet or under a bed, and the keyboard awaits.

First of all, his sense of humor is alive and well. He roared at our neighbor's suggestion that he is now qualified to teach shop class at the local high school.

He seems to be comfortable at all times. Although he is still taking two to three pain pills a day, (not together,) he takes them when he begins to feel some discomfort and the pills manage that discomfort for him. So far, he spends most of the day stretched out with his hand elevated, watching TV.

He is a great sport at having one hand bound up. Our first day back home, I bathed him in the tub, washed his hair, and shaved him. The second day, I helped him prepare for his own shower -- helped him undress, wrapped his hand in a plastic bag. The third day, I returned home from driving Little One to school, to find him clean, shaven, and bright-eyed with the prospect of surprising me.

We went to the Dr. on Monday and physical therapy yesterday. At the Dr. he was curious and optimistic. When they told us they expect near-100% recovery on the finger with the plate, he was ecstatic.

Our physical therapist is quite the character. Broad Queens accent -- and a bluntness that is quite a shock down here in the South. At one point she stepped away, and DH began to assert that he will drive himself to PT next week. I solicited her help in convincing him this is NOT a good idea. "What the hell are you thinking?" she bellowed. "Thank you," I replied. She is matter-of-fact and seems to have seen it all. Although she wasn't quite as gentle with his hand as I would have wished, I believe she will be very good for him.

So far, the only challenge I see is his restlessness with being stuck at home with nothing to do. In the past, home has been a place for him to continually create -- whether it was remodeling the kitchen or making music. All that is on hold for now -- not forever -- but for now -- and being idle is just not his cup of tea.

Yesterday he finally felt good enough to go with me to walk the dog, and we plan to go down the street this week to sit with an elderly neighbor whose wife is in a near-coma state. The neighbor sits on his porch and welcomes any company who might come by. Visiting with him will be a good opp for us to do some good with the idle time.

Meanwhile, my neighborhood work is on hold for a week or two. It can wait.

I have received permission from my editor to proceed with an article I have eagerly sought: riding the garbage truck!! I called the manager of sanitation yesterday and he is optimistic. He will clear it with the Director of Public Works and I am to call back on Tuesday, 20th, to set it up. His exact words were, "In my opinion, you can write it best if we let you actually work as if you were a City employee for the day." He will also set up a meeting for me with the workers inside, around a table, to get their personal stories. More about that later.

To Francie

As I settled into the chair to update the blog, I had to move our elderly cat, Francis. We believe Francis is about 18 years old. She has taken to sitting on the keyboard late at night -- I am not sure just why. It is my habit to go online late at night, and she is likely looking for some petting. Yet there she remains, on the keyboard, 'til early in the morning. As the keyboard emits no heat, I doubt that she is looking for a warm place to roost. The place she has forsaken in its place -- our bed -- is much warmer. Sometimes when I come back to the pc due to insomnia, say, about 3am, there she is -- hunkered down on the keyboard with all sorts of colorful windows displayed behind her, the result of this or that paw pressing on the various keys. Some nights, I remove the keyboard and stand it vertically on the floor. Other nights, I think, "Why not?" and leave it there to afford her one of the few pleasures she can still enjoy.

DS who is in Iraq (still!) brought her home in the jacket of his little glen plaid suit the year he was in 7th grade. He had visited church with his friend from school, and there was a litter of kittens at the church. It was a cold, gray, rainy Virginia day, raw as could be. As I opened the door to let him in, I exclaimed, "I didn't say you could have a cat!" Returning my glare, he said evenly, "You didn't say I couldn't." She had pneumonia, and could not eat. She was so tiny, and her eyes were still shut. We put her in a shoebox with his T-shirt and suspended a light bulb over it. We fed her baby formula from an eye dropper.

When her eyes opened, they were opaque white, like the Grandfather on the old Kung-fu TV show. Over the ensuing months, our patient vet tried mercuric oxide ointment, mercury drops, silver drops, steroids, sulfur drops, and antibiotics. Finally, her eyes cleared so that the sclera, the usually-clear coating over the eyeball, was a translucent greyish color. Her irises twitch and jiggle behind it, we guess in an eternal struggle to focus -- and yet, on a summer's afternoon, she can sit motionless on the bed and pinpoint a fly as he zooms around the room. She used to sit by the hour and watch the ceiling fan in its slow rotation, her head swiveling in imitation of its course.

When DS was about 14 or so, we were seated in our then-stylish Pit-type sofa, watching yet another episode of PeeWee Herman. Francis (or Francie, as we now call her,) walked tightrope-style along the backs of the adjoining couches. She approached the brass chain of a reading lamp that hung over the couch. Reached up with her paw and pulled the chain! ON came the light.
"Turn it off," DS and I said together. Looking at us in the eye, she reached up and pulled it once more. The light turned off.

DS and I stared at each other in perfect silence.

Now DS has three children of his own and is out of the country protecting us all. He'll be 30 years old next year. Francie, with all her idiosyncrosies, lives on. She eats well every day, weighs about 4.25 pounds. Eschews the company of our other cat as well as that of the dog. (Other cat weighs in at a whopping 14 pounds, dog at 8.5.)

"You know," I will sigh to DH, "Francie can't live forever. It's time for me to brace myself for her to go on."

"You've been saying that for ten years," DH laughs. "Keep bracing."

Life Goes On.....

Today was going-back-to-the-Dr Day. We were anxious on several fronts: I was concerned for DH to see the un-finger. It's one thing to know intellectually that it's gone. It's another to see the hand you have known all your life, differently. He was anxious to get a good report on flexibility for the other injured finger. We were both anxious that the wounds, which have been closed up for four days now, would be healthy.

We got good reports on all fronts. DH knew what to expect with the un-finger, and was not too surprised to see it. We were a little shocked that even the lowest joint of that finger is gone. He took it right in stride. "Now I can reach my hand more easily into guitars for repair," was his only comment.

The flexibility issue was answered by the doctor himself. "I expect near 100% recovery with that finger." The attending PA showed us the x-ray online. He zoomed in to show us the plate. It spans the 1" or so from the base of the finger up to the mid-finger joint. All joints are un-impeded.

I was concerned for the health of the wounds when we had to soak the hand to remove the dressing. Did not want to rrrr-ip it off. Youch. Once the wounds were visible, the doctor had this to say: "I know it looks terrible to you, but it's beautiful to me."

DH only had 3 pain pills yesterday. Today, he went through quite a bit of movement with the examination and all, and had 4. Still, only 4. He made it through the night last night. I awoke him several times and he declared it had no pain -- and he made it from 9:30 pm to 9:00 am.

So we see progress on all accounts. Tomorrow we go to physical therapy at 8am. The doctor told us to expect "no picnic." Then we have to start to soak the wounds 4 times a day. Sooo glad I don't work away from home any more.

Will write more after PT tomorrow.

Delayed Return

My DS who is in Iraq (thanks, W) called this afternoon for 2 big reasons. First of all, he wanted to welcome DH into the I-cut-off-my-pinkie-with-a-power-tool club. The two of them commiserated for a few minutes.

Finally, he got to his real news. He found out, today, 1 day before departure, that he is not to go home yet. The guy who let him know, has known for a month.

DS was pretty upset -- but, typically enough -- his pain was for his wife & kids. "Couldn't they have let me know before we got the chain down to 3 links??" he called out. Sorry, DS, nobody's listening. The Repubs are in charge. W has a point to prove. Myself, I don't get the point, but then, I'm a Leftie.

If only he can stay in the good Lord's bubble of safety til returning home, I can wait.

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--

Random Situations

Really, how many people get a greeting card from the grandfather of the guy you bought a stove from? Not too many, I'd hazard a guess. We have the most extraordinary experiences. Like the UPS guy in the elevator at Carnegie Hall, who asked us if we were talking to each other telepathically?? (We were. He shocked us as much, by knowing about it, as we shocked him, by being able to do it!) ...But that's another story.

So, today we got a greeting card from Salvador Molinar. The man whose wife is the namesake of our stove, or the other way 'round, I never can get that one straight.

Houston, Texas

August 31, 2005

Dear Jody & Maggie,
I hope all is well when you receive this card. Am just fine myself, thanks be to God.
My children and I want to thank you very much for buying our faithful old stove. We were satisfied with it. My dear wife, Rachel, bought it from our insurance agent.
One of my nieces wanted it but Gabriel, my grandson, chose to bring it to Houston. Again, thank you and may your stove give you good service.
Sincerely,
Salvador Molinar
ps. Rachel was born on May 1, 1924 and passed away on May 7, 1987. May she rest in peace. Amen.

Clearly, we will save this card.

I Can't Say it Better Myself

Hate to be a big lam-o copycat, but this woman said WHAT I would say, if I COULD say it as well as she. To save myself the embarrassment of trying, I'll just send you to her eloquent viewpoint:


http://www.nytimes.com/2005/09/03/opinion/03dowd.html?n=Top%2fOpinion%2fEditorials%20and%20Op%2dEd%2fOp%2dEd%2fColumnists

Thomas Edison

"Many of life's failures are people who did not realize how close they were to success when they gave up."
---Thomas A. Edison (1847 - 1931)

Neighborhood meeting last night. Although there were some other short committee reports, the main focus of the meeting was to present the plans for the park. About sixty households were represented, or about seventy people. Most households sent one person, with the other staying home to get children ready for bed. But some couples came, and if they are homeowners, they get two votes. Renters only get one vote. I did not make that rule; it's in the bylaws.

Only paid members can vote so there was quite a stampede to pay their dues. I am quite interested to hear how many ppl joined last night. We have a large membership drive coming up and this was a pretty effective, if unintentional, kickoff.

We knew she-who-must-not-be-named was going about, rabble-rousing. She voted, "Nay," and it wasn't until after the meeting that I found out that her vote is invalid as she is not a paid member. She did confront me in the meeting, challenging the proxy votes. I was only too glad to discount the proxies, due to the outstanding majority IN FAVOR of the park. Yea! With proxies, 59 Ayes, 4 Nays. Without proxies, 52 Ayes, 4 Nays.

Amazingly, our two most challenging people wound up voting Aye. The neighbor beside the park did not attend Saturday's meeting for those who live within 2 blocks of the park. He asked me last night how many of his trees we want to cut down. I replied that no trees on his perimeter would be cut -- only the brush on the park side of the line. He voted Aye. SWMNBN had said he was "vehemently against" the park.

A lady whose backyard borders the park seemed to be very much against it, as well. She told one of our board members she didn't have "no time for a f***ing meeting." She asked her questions -- we answered them -- and she also voted Aye.

I was amazed at the turnout. Even though we have about 420 households, a mere smattering of folks attends these meetings. Of course our strongest representation was 28-35 year-olds who have children in the home. They also represent most of the energy in our neighborhood. Yet, last night, I would say we had probably twenty households who have never attended before. Middle-aged people. Older people. And, of course, our 83-year-old board member, leaning heavily on her walking stick.

It was an amazing night. We're not through the tunnel yet. Next week, we present to the Parks Board and on 20.September, we present to City Council. Then, of course, we have to raise $28,000 -- and that's only for Phase I. We have not yet priced Phases II and III.

As I stated last night, depending on our fund-raising abilities, we will either be breaking ground at the Centennial Celebration next June, or cutting a ribbon on it. I'm shooting for the ribbon-cutting.

Tears of Joy

I'm too old to cry.
7:45am here. I just took Little One to school and, on the way back, stopped at the site for The Park. It is a tangle of overgrown brush, a mess, really. One side of the creek is a bog and the other side is an overgrown field surrounded by jungle.
Tonight, that could all begin to change. I sat there, trying to visualize the beautiful plan they've drawn up, superimposed on the green mayhem. It's so surreal -- that I could just have this random idea: "Let's go for a park!" and now it may actually become reality.
Drove home, grapped a cuppa, and checked the DILs' blogs. Both of them blog, and both of them typically blog late at night, so early morning is a good time to catch up. (But, both of them, like me, blog somewhat erratically!)
Both of them had updates online so I settled in for a good update. Read the NYC DIL first. Good newsy update on baby and my DS.
Then read DIL who is married to my son who is in Iraq. In 13 days, he will be home!! Those tears that were stinging my eyes earlier began to pour down my cheeks. Her blog said he is so discouraged, so tired, that even the knowledge that he's coming home did little to improve his spirits. My heart aches. Dear God, You have been so good to protect him through today. Please, Lord, keep him safe through his return home. And, please, Lord, give W a clue that each of our sons and daughters is NOT disposable.
His babies are thrilled at the prospect of having Daddy back. DIL is cleaning, organizing, cooking, shopping.

Life is good.

2 Hurdles cleared...

OK, two hurdles cleared on the Park. Thursday night, the Board approved the Park, and this morning, the neighbors within 2 blocks were invited to an informal presentation at one of the neighbors' house. About 6 families came. Geez, they're thick with kids! I felt that the room was full of 3-year-olds. Toddling around, rolling balls under my feet, handing me blocks, it was great.
The adults in the room were really receptive. Asked some tough but good questions. Enthusiastically embraced the project. WOW was the first word I heard when I showed the plans. WOW was exactly what I was hoping to hear.
So, the last hurdle is next Tuesday night. Til then...