Giving the finger – part two

If you haven’t read part one, you can do here.

After the dog murdering my chooks (and it took a long time for me to forgive her) and amputating my finger on the same day I was sent to our local hospital. They didn’t reattach (I think because I was no longer a young thing). However, they asked if I wanted to keep it. At first, I said yes but then changed my mind. It is not exactly the sort of thing you want to see on a mantelpiece along with the children’s sports trophies. The hospital made arrangements for me to go to a specialist hand hospital the next day to have the wound checked and stitched and to take away further bone so that the skin wouldn’t pull.

It was late afternoon before I was operated on the following day. I had various hospital staff ask if I was the person who had the finger amputated by the chook or by the dog.  I hate having a general anaesthetic; I take so long to get over it and am sure I lose brain cells every time. The surgeon and anaesthetist were having a great conversation about a holiday in China. The anaesthetist said he had lots of photos of his holiday on his phone. I was nervous and had had enough and snapped. I told them to get on with it and talk about their happy snaps later. As I went into the numbing sleep, I thought maybe I would wake in a ward full of whining people. To my surprise, I was in a room with four beds and only mine was occupied.  Later that night the roommate from hell was admitted, but that is another story.

I didn’t want my husband to have to make the long drive the next day to pick me up, so I asked them if I could catch a train home. Of course, the train stopped halfway, and we were ushered onto buses. I did have a bit of trouble with my bags, but there are kind people out there.

I had an appointment at the hand clinic for physio. I was starting to realise the implications of what I’d done to myself and feeling a bit sorry for myself. That is until I saw a young man who had lost all of the fingers on one hand.  It seems every time I felt sorry for the loss of a digit; I saw someone else worse off. There were only five on the bus shortly after when I was going to a private hand physio place, and two of those five had an arm missing and got off at different stops.

People ask if it is like losing a limb where you think it is still there. No. You do however compensate without any thought. I’ve always touch typed, and it took no time to use the other fingers without even thinking of it.

My brother also lost a finger a few years before me.  We give each other high four and a halves when we meet. My sister is concerned that it may be a family trait. I joke that I can get a 10% discount when I get my nails done.  Stumpy has served me well, and life is good. However, I’m trying to think of a better story than ‘I slammed a gate on it’ – maybe I got lost in a snow storm and lost the finger to frostbite.  Has anyone got a good one?

And no, we haven’t replaced the chooks, and the dog is still a killer.

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