Ouch!

by Zona

Not many statements can make me stop harvesting my farm on FaceBook..."Honey...don't panic...I cut off my finger.." however, would be one that could. It was 3:45am on a Sunday morning when my husband said these words to me. Of course, the best way to get me to freak is to tell me not to….works every time. I jumped up leaving my pumpkins in the fields, ran down the hall, bounced off the door jamb as I turned the corner and yelled "WHAT!!??!!" Mr Z. was in the kitchen. "Don't come in here!!" he yelled over his shoulder. Too late! I saw the mangled, bloody mess that used to be his pinky finger. Even in my attempt to stay calm, I heard myself repeat "Oh my God! Oh my God!" Mr Z said, "There's a lot of blood! Call 911!!" "What the hell happened??" I asked. He explained about the table, how it fell on his hand and how when he pulled back because of the pain, a third of his finger was yanked off. "Oh my God! Oh my God!" Somehow I got to the phone and called 911. The operator told me to get the finger and put it in ice cold water. WHAT?!?!! I repeated these instructions to my husband and before I could put down the phone, he was out in the garage looking for his missing knuckle and nail. I grabbed a small tupperware container (finally found a use for the damn thing) and filled it with ice water just as Mr Z brought in the glove he had been wearing. He turned it over and let the finger fall out into the water. There is something completely surreal about seeing part of a finger that you recognize floating in a dish. You know it shouldn't be there. Very weird!!

The paramedics arrived, bandaged up his hand, and although we wanted to go to the big hospital downtown, they advised us to go to the one closest to us which is less than 10 minutes away. We arrived there carrying the container with his finger within about 30 minutes of the accident. I have to stop here. I hate Emergency Rooms. I know that the doctors and nurses there save lives, but no matter what injury or sickness you go in for, you can count on being there for at least 3 hours and when you hurt or feel like crap, that's just way too long. Mr Z was admitted immediately. Well, as soon as I paid the $200 co-pay, that is. A doctor came into the room an hour later, shot Novocain into Mr Z's finger, and assessed the injury. She ordered x-rays, looked at the floating finger, and left. About 90 minutes later, she came back and informed us that they couldn't help us. They didn't have a hand doctor on staff. We'd have to go to the downtown hospital about 5 miles away. Did they not know this when we walked in the door almost three hours ago? Couldn't they have directed us to the other hospital immediately? Arrrghh! X-rays and floating finger in hand, we left.

Once again, Mr Z was admitted into the ER immediately, no wait. To my surprise however, we had to pay another $200 co-pay. I questioned this as he was just being transferred. They wouldn't budge. After we got in the room, which contained 2 recliners but strangely no bed, a nurse came in, started an IV line and hung an antibiotic drip. Except to take down the empty fluid bag, no one else walked into that room for 5 hours. I would occasionally go out to the nurse's station to ask if the doctor knew Mr Z was there and was told that of course he did. Sometime after noon, a nurse walked in with a gown for Mr Z and a bed was wheeled up. In a bright and cheery voice she told him, "You're going upstairs for surgery!!" WHAT??!! We hadn't even talked to a doctor! She assured us as she handed me the floating finger which was looking a little pruney by now, that we would talk to someone upstairs in pre-op. Although the doctors and nurses didn't seem to be in a hurry, the orderly that took Mr Z upstairs did. She literally ran through the corridors. I sure was glad I brought my inhaler. ijs! From the time we crossed the finish line into pre-op, until the actual surgery, it was another 3 hour wait. Poor Mr Z. After waiting 12 hours to hear the fate of his finger, the surgeon finally came in 15 minutes before the operation, took one look at the floating finger and unceremoniously threw it away. "It's been sitting around too long," he said. I wanted to kick him in the ankle.

The surgery went well. The doctor said he had to remove the nail bed or Mr. Z would have had something akin to an eagle talon growing out from the stump of his finger. Interesting…but not entirely desirable. Monday was his first follow up appointment and we were shocked to see close to 75 people waiting in the office when we got there. We found a small section of the wall to lean on and settled in for what turned out to be an almost 3 hour wait. They finally called him back and the bandage was removed. The word meat grinder comes to mind. The doctor popped in for about 5 minutes to say the finger looked like it was healing nicely and that the stitches would probably be removed in a week. He took a couple pictures for his carnage scrapbook and then he was gone like the wind. Mr. Z then surprised me by taking out his cell phone and snapping away. I asked him what he was doing. He smiled, "Taking pictures for your blog!" Aren't you glad I said, “No thank you?” :D