the sound of one hand typing

It’s difficult to explain, but this morning I awoke from a nightmare in which I had a large nail driven into my right leg and I struggled desperately to extract it amidst the blood and gore. I told a friend at the cafe about it and while not wishing to gross anyone out figured it a dream worth mentioning for interpretation … “sounds like you got some bad juju goin’ on” she reassured me, “thanks for the tip” I think I responded.

But not 4 hours later I am outside that very same cafe fashioning a scrap of plastic with my stainless steel cerated Leatherman pocket knife, the one my mom and I went halves on together for my birthday a few years back, and I was saying to myself … “geez, this knife is damned sharp, I better be carefuu…”. Thats right, just at that moment of cautious self talk, 2 inches of high grade proud-to-be-American blade went into my left hand. The dream had legs, now, a hand.

I would have been grateful if it just went straight through the meat  into the table top , like some hero-out-psych’s-villan torture scene in a Tarantino flick but alas, it took a more sinister turn and journeyed on into the nether go thar regions of the palm.

I have cool headed friends who know me well enough to dial 911 when I run into their favourite cafe desperately trying to stem the crimson tide gushing from my hand-on-hand makeshift tourniquet  screaming, “call 911”.

The ambulance took the direct route while the Leatherman caught  the arterial deep palmer arch “or some such” Dr Phelps coolly mused while stitching the lower epidermis prior to stitching the rest of “the damage” between my thumb and fore finger. Tendons intact, major nerves still screaming, my hand now ringing like a bell and thumping like a Foreman rope-a-doper, I couldn’t feel more grateful for usable and opposable fingers, thumb and Chloroprocaine.

So the waking dream bookends with a multi Tylenol and Dalwhinnien chaser, this hand won’t be fretting the boards anytime soon but just being able to gingerly wiggle these fingers is reason enough for rejoicing.

Special thanks to Arvi, Vicky, Dy and Mike at Magnolia Cafe, Paul and the Paramedics (not a band) and Dr Phelps and the nursing and triage staff at Guelph General Hospital.

* For those of you with a medical interest or cast iron stomach the medical wound images are HERE (caution, graphic content of sutured injury and bruised palm) and the page is password protected (password: ouch )