Who knew a useless pinkie finger could cause so much trouble. Three months ago, I broke it. So, off I went to my orthopedic clinic.
Tip of my pinkie broken off.
Best practice is to put a pin in it to set, but my insurance required us to try a variety of splints... on a pinkie finger...for someone who works on the land. Brilliant waste of two months, while my broken pinkie, cocked at an off angle kept getting caught on things. After proving the futility of splints, my insurance approved surgery.
These past two weeks have been pedal to the metal to do all the farm tasks the I won't be able to do for a few weeks with my dominant hand in a wrap.
The day before surgery, I discovered a huge oak that had fallen on my back fence. The manner in which it lay almost parallel to the fence and how hung it was in other trees, made it an especially difficult tree to cut. At one point, I had both chainsaws bound in the tree. Sorry no pics. I thought I was going to pass out and Luke wasn't far behind me.
We weren't stopping for lunch until it was done. I had my fence back up by 1:30. Farm Team gettin' er done.
I love these old hands. Their strength lets me live the life I love.
D-Day, 4:20 AM, Adjanie picks me up at home and drives me to the hospital.
By 6 AM, I'm first in line for surgery. We had agreed that they'd do a a nerve block of my arm and leave me awake because of : a) my heart, b) general anesthesia scrambles my brain like a shaken Etch-A-Sketch, c) I had to write my an Auditing midterm Friday evening. They prep you for general even if the plan is for local, just in case. Welp, by about 6:05, I had a tube in my throat and I was out like a light. Apparently, my blood pressure was wonking out and my finger was broken in more places than the original break. Well, that's what ya get for leaving me with a finger pointing in the wrong direction: it gets caught in things.
When I woke with a sore throat and reaching around for a something to vomit in, I was highly pissed. I disconnected myself, hopped up, wobbled around getting dressed.
I was sitting in the wheelchair when they came to pull the IVs out. I must've looked like an old wet hen because they processed me out of there like I was in the grocery store express lane. I even managed to detour a part-timer on her way in to work. Back home by 9:30. Now, if I could just get some coffee in this joint.
I was settling in to follow doctor's orders and lay down with my hand above my heart for a few hours, when the electricians called form the lakehouse to ask where the heck the generator engineer was, who was to have met them 30 minutes ago. "I'll be right there."
After corralling the generator engineer and discussing the work they were to do, I tried tip toeing home, but a neighbor needed help. I make sure every day that I do one kind act, and after this checked off my list, I was going back to bed.
The dogs had other plans.
I didn't see bed by 11 PM. So much for best laid plans. Plus, they had wound my hand up too tight and I had to loosen it (not just an excuse to see the work, but thanks to my heart, my hands and feet are swollen by the end of the day). Look at the pretty pins.
I didn't sleep worth a toss because I'd refused receiving any pain med shot at the hospital and I tore up their prescription for opiods because of my midterm and because I'm back at work today (Saturday) and I can't be in the barn torqued out of my mind.
Get er done.
