Digital Image
Adam Kibbe
The things I do to relate to Michael…….. Going pycho on PhotoSIG was one thing, dragging out every literary affectation in the guise of advancing ìwritingî skills yet another. And swimming in freezing lakes every October a particularly glaring example of sycophancy. But to try on self-mutilation……… Well, thereÃd be lots wrong with that vector of worship. Which isnÃt what happened, of course, but the perverse thought process took place anyway, hence this spurious start to a quick chronicle of recent trauma.
IÃve been building a bed for our soon-to-be-two-year-old grandson, Ivan, and two nights ago I was trying to make some round ìwheelsî when I got a finger badly hacked up by a router bit. I could explain the physics, but itÃd be gruesome. Arguably pointless, though fascinating — the improbability of the injury is in fact tantamount to a miracle. Had any one of a dozen details been different, IÃdÃve simply sprayed some or all of that finger about the shop like so much sawdust, and with as much chance of reattachment. Which is none. As it happens, I split the end of it off both sides of the bone from the tip past the first knuckle (almost 1-1/2î in on my jumbo hands). Nicked the bone on the larger cut. Rather than make sawdust, I got two pretty clean cuts, but all parts partly still attached. Miraculous.
The second miracle (unless you count my wifeÃs breathless drive to the emergency room), was a gifted plastic surgeon on call. He arrived less than an hour after we did and left me about two hours later with what looked a lot like the finger I remember from a week ago, albeit a bit Frankenstein-jigsaw-puzzly. But ìtogetherî again. Some caution on what might follow — should some of the more badly damaged periphery yet die, it might leave bone exposed and necessitate some transplant grafting, which would involve sewing the damaged finger to a donor piece (maybe a flap from another finger, possibly even into my side), leaving it attached until the transplant ìtookî on the damaged finger, then cutting it free from the donor site. Ornate, protracted, sorta cool, but kinda grotesque, too.
And thankfully unnecessary. I just got back from my first follow up, the first look since it disappeared under bandages at emergency, and even heÃs pleased with his handiwork. Some ìedgesî might not pull through, so bits might yet get trimmed away. But no amputation, no transplants. Miraculous.
The last two days have been an odd limbo. IÃve been flat out since beginning the addition back in May, and I shifted gears into IvanÃs bed with hardly a pause. All of which came to a crashing halt in a violent moment of stupidity in my newly outfitted basement shop. Then came serious painkillers and waiting two days for a follow up examination. IÃve napped more than I otherwise have all year, and while I handled some work by phone, others graciously took on some of my commitments, leaving me with my wonderful nurse-wife to pray, heal, and ponder what there was to learn from this.
I learned a lot of geek-knowledge in the hospital. Dr. Jeffrey Smith, Plastic Surgeon of Chelmsford, MA, was very kind about being dragged from his home late at night for my carnage, and beyond patient with my drug-accelerated incessant denial-patter on all topics from breast implants to how much his cool magnifier goggles cost, and all manner of off-topics in between.
But as IÃve gazed from semi-comfy moments on the couch at home up at squirrels making winter homes high in tall, wind-blown trees, wisps of wisdom have flirted with my drug-addled mind. Michael took me to task for being out of balance. I donÃt know that I concur, but his pointÃs worth considering. I certainly donÃt chalk the damage I did myself to obsession, fatigue, haste, or anything like that. And isnÃt building my own nest, to share with Tricia, and a bed to incubate the dreams of my grandson worthy of all the time I wish to devote? What else should ìbalanceî that out? I can say that this is an extremely inappropriate path to justify a nap, but as a means to worhy ends……
No, if lesson there is — and at times I DO feel a tug towards a belief in fate, and purpose — then it lies elsewhere. In the fragility and near-illusion of control, as entropy and the laws of physics carry on whether we pay them heed or not. In the deep regard friends can bestow when the mere communication of it is the single most important service they can render, even as they offer more mundane assistance. In the passage of ìtimeî as the clouds and the trees know it, not a stream in which we phase-crippled mammals can bathe permanently, but beside which we can sit and dangle our bare feet more than we do.
All worthy lessons are not learned easily, and I donÃt know that IÃm even looking in the right place. These have been uneasy days as measured by my mind and my brutalized body, but in them I have found some ease, though I did not know I was looking.
Ouch. Poor you and your poor wife. Ivan will talk about his bed and grandfather’s boo-boo for years to come. Hope you’re feeling better.
Comment by chris — November 5, 2003 @ 7:16 am
Adam, maybe Michael meant your finger was out of balance momentarily. You know Michael. Or maybe you were due for some “bedrest.” Hope you feel better and recover shortly. Nice to have seen you, as always. Mark
Comment by Mark Schreiber — November 5, 2003 @ 7:35 am
Adam, You have returned me to memories of similar straits dominated by pain and fear, when I, standing by, was not capable of philosophy. I bless your doctor for treating your injury and pain, your wife for turning fear into quest for meaning, and you for your robust character. Our love is with you.
Comment by fellowtraveler — November 5, 2003 @ 8:31 am
If the grafting isn’t 100% perfect, I’d be willing to offer some skin,if a little liposuction can be part of the deal!! Hope your naps have caught you up to speed, as I think you’ve been room-weary for far too long now! Be well. -Jan
Comment by jan Queijo — November 5, 2003 @ 9:12 am
Whoa! Adam, your story revives my vow to be very watchful when I start up my table saw for some small job in my garage. Several years ageo, after Mike’s saw chopped off his forefinger, I began being extra careful with machine tools, but with time the edges of my fear have worn down. By sharpening those edges, your story may well save my fingers in the future.
Thanks for the gruesome details.
Comment by rakkity ed — November 5, 2003 @ 9:54 am
I can’t say I’m glad to go where many others have gone before, but if my plight has any effect such as Ed intimates, that makes the burden rather lighter. As I’ve explained to many a “class” of budding theatre techies in the Agassiz shop, where I used to work, always think through what could happen should something go wrong. What’ll move, and where, and stay out of the way. It’s fine if wood gets thrown around, just keep yourself where you’ll stay out of it.
Thank you all for your kind words. And Ed, I like the current spelling permutation of your “handle”!
Comment by adam — November 5, 2003 @ 10:21 am
While the best wishes go without saying, I am totally impressed with the typing of a guy with a routered digit! Can also almost smell the smoke coming out of your ears with all that is going on between them! Given the forced physical semi-indolence, perhaps a concurrent brain rest would not be amiss.
Hope you’re pain and drug free soon!
Comment by Susan — November 5, 2003 @ 11:58 am
This is the most impressive rallying of responses I’ve ever seen to a blog. Is this from the group of friends who know and love you, or the empathy of all who cringe as they feel your pain, or more accurately a combination of both. Tricia’s role reminds me of Jan’s when I had my unexpected trip to the emergency room almost two years ago. Complete, and without hesitation, strength and caring.
I agree with Ed 100%. My belief is most accidents with power tools happen with the pros who are so familiar with their equipment, they lose their perspective of the danger.
Something to keep in mind on the 15th when we start hacking up oaks with our chainsaws.
Comment by Q — November 5, 2003 @ 8:02 pm
But Mark, can we hack up oaks when we have no idea where they might fall? Can this annual ritual proceed without our fearless leader?
Comment by MM — November 5, 2003 @ 8:21 pm
GEEZ ADAM! A lot to put yourself through just to prove you can score the largest number of comments of any blog entry yet!
And enough of emulating Michael — not good for your health!
Comment by Dan — November 5, 2003 @ 8:25 pm
He’s not quite there ….yet.
Comment by 91/2 — November 6, 2003 @ 6:05 am
Though I’ve a self-avowed affinity for tangential obscurity, I find the last contributor’s “handle” & “address” beyond off-topic. A dash in the “handle” would explain the names in the “address”, but where it all came from is somewhat incomprehensible, even if the expanation’s a recent rewatching………. If a followup here would be squeamish for you, could I at least persuade you to drop some hints in a sidebar?
Comment by sidelined — November 6, 2003 @ 7:19 am
I thought the title was 91/2, not 91/2 Weeks. I guess I was bent on turning Adrian Lyne into Federico Fellini, but adaptable chap that I am, I followed Lyne to Mickey and Kim. Since when do you need linear?
Comment by Ping Pong — November 6, 2003 @ 7:38 am
Further “what” & “how” are interesting — alas, there was no “why”…… I missed the Fellini reference (and haven’t seen 8-1/2 anyway) but wondered if maybe being spoon-fed while blindfolded might’ve been a recommended trauma recovery therapy. Or is it just Basinger flicks in general? Extemporaneity’s its own reward sometimes — but why then do you so hate Zippy…?
Comment by hijinks — November 6, 2003 @ 9:19 am