Reader's Disgression is Advised....

Today is the anniversary of my almost severed fingers...It happened one grey, dismal Thursday afternoon 9 years ago...

The Woodworking Classroom:
...I was making my mother a cutting board in woodworking class. Grade eight. Mr. Jenson. I had this beautiful piece of maple wood, and I was using the planer so that it would be smooth and beautiful, and the wood got stuck. Now most people who are smart would have turned off this highly powerful machine in order to remove the stuck object...but I did not. I tried to pull the wood back towards me, but the blade was so strong that it pulled my fingers closer, and closer, and ZOINK. That is the sound that was made when my fingers hit the blade. I stood in shock holding my hand awkwardly, the bones protruding, the blood oozing (this is my favorite part!) and then I tried to walk towards someone, help, anybody...but my legs wouldn't move, so I stood there for awhile until help arrived, and then I was sat down by the sink, so that I would not bleed on the floor, while the school contacted someone who had first-aid training to come to the basement level, and bind me, before I left for the hospital...

The Hospital:
Three words describe this time period: tears, pain, embarrassment.
The tears did not arrive until my mother did. The pain was present for the duration, particularly while they unwrapped the initial dressing, put needles in between my fingers, and took x-rays...The embarrassment occurred when one of the nurses told me that her son was in one of my classes, and I was imagining the future discussions that would take place around school ("did you hear about the girl who almost cut off her fingers, and cried? yeah my mom was her nurse.")

The Night:
Very awkward sleep.

The Next Morning/afternoon:
Crying in the hospital waiting for the plastic surgeon to look at my hand for 5 hours...And finally having surgery, and getting my fingers reconstructed!! A happy time because they gave me morphine.

The Recovery:
Doctor's appointments.
Fellow peers laughing at the posture that my middle finger had in its bandage. Sometimes I would point it in their direction if they got really irritating.
Fear that my fingers would get infected, and amputated.
Uncomfortable bathing experiences.
My stuffed frog
and LOVE....

The Moral(s):
When there are signs on power tools that say "CAUTION" or "DANGER" pay attention to them.
AND
There are people who care about your well-being...even people who you have never spoken to before express concern...It is frustrating that it often takes a crisis to know that you are loved...so I hope this is a reminder for you that you ARE!

The End.