Winding Road, or, So This Is How It's Going To Be

I went to the doctor on Monday to have the bandage removed for the first time since my accident. I knew what to expect, more or less, but I wasn't really prepared for the emotional impact of seeing my mangled stub of a thumb as the nurse unwrapped it.

From a medical standpoint, it looked pretty good. There was no infection, and the stitches had held together well. As far as my layman's brain could tell, the surgeon had done a good job of sewing together the various pieces of skin that wrapped around what was now the end of my thumb. Although the scabbing and stitches and tightly stretched pieces of skin looked pretty gruesome, seeing that stuff wasn't what made my eyes flutter and my head feel dizzy. What really got to me was simply seeing for the first time the stub that would be my left thumb for the rest of my life.

So this is how it's going to be from now on.

The nurse had left the room, leaving me alone to contemplate the meaning of life with nine and a half fingers. After a minute or so, I glanced up and looked through the doorway, where I caught the nurse's eye as she exited another examination room. "Are you okay?" she mouthed, a look of concern on her face. I don't know what exactly she had read in my own face that betrayed my despair. I shrugged and nodded my head.

You know how some people see the highlights of their life-history flash before their eyes during a life-threatening moment? The opposite happened to me. I suddenly saw quick images of my future-life flash before my eyes. I saw little kids looking at my stub of a thumb while standing in line at the grocery store, hiding behind their mother's legs out of fear, while at the same time peeking around, unable to resist the curiosity of it. I saw myself at a keyboard typing, only more slowly and awkwardly than I'd been able to before. I saw grandkids sitting in my lap as I did the old "pull off the end of my thumb" trick, much as I'd seen it dozens of times as Sara and Casey sat in my father-in-law's lap. He's entertained countless kids that way, pretending that he really did pull off the end of his finger, shocking them when he revealed to them his real-life stub of a pinky finger, as if he had just pulled part of it off. His stub was not the result of a table saw accident, but rather the result of having it bitten off by a horse when Dana was just a kid.

I left the doctor's office with just a bandage and a splint on my left thumb, which has already given me much more mobility than I had before. While it still hurts to apply any pressure to my thumb, I can now at least use my other four fingers for typing and other things. Because I can't press my thumb against anything without severe pain, I still can't cut food with a knife and fork, hold something in my left hand, or trim the fingernails on my right hand (Dana kindly did that for me this morning). I imagine that as the pain subsides and the nerves heal over the next few weeks, I'll be able to eventually push against my stub and use it for leverage to do most of those things. I'm hoping that other than looking a little weird aesthetically, eventually my thumb will be almost 100% useful, just a little shorter than before.

Last night, as we watched what I'm sure is at least the 150th episode of Little House on the Prairie that we've watched together as a family, Casey was busy scribbling away in a little journal in between glances at the TV. When the show was over, she handed me a "story" (more like a poem) that she'd written while we'd been watching the show. I couldn't help but be profoundly moved by it, in light of the uncertainty of my life right now, career-wise, writing-wise, faith-wise, and every otherwise. (See my last blog entry, Life Without a Thumbnail). I realize that no one appreciates the creativity of a child as much as the kid's own parent, but I thought I'd share Casey's poem with you just this once as it speaks into where my head is at these days regarding what's next for me.

For me, it's a prayer as much as it is the poem of an eight year old. Here it is:

Winding Road
by Casey Larson

Winding road, winding road, which way to go?
Winding here and over there.
South, North, East, West.
But which way shall I go?
Which way down the path?