Saturday, July 25, 2009

Memory of a moment

I am typing this with one hand. I am better at it than I would have ever imagined.

Last night, while hosting my charming, handsome ex-boyfriend, (you know, the cool one who is a trapeze artist, photographer, sky/scuba diving, documentarian who travels around the world and models when he is down on money) I almost amputated my finger in a hand blender making some homemade ice cream. Blood may or may not have spurted on him. He cannot remember if that stain was there before he arrived at my house.

It isn't too hysterical. My nurse practitioner husband, who looked at it, clearly the blade hit the bone mangled the finger all meaty and bloody and flaps hanging here and there, said, "Do you really want to go to the emergency room on Friday night? It's not like it will fall off any more than it is. I can do just as good of a job here." I passed out straight away onto the kitchen table, then sat, in the charming seductive way that only a trauma victim can, with my head between my legs,and breathing deeply...I let him, with copious amounts of wine, and my ex-boyfriend charming the dickens off of Beezus, perform home surgery. I sat for the painful soaks in Provodine and Saline and fake stitches. I grimaced and cussed.

"Your mama has big cajones." The ex-boyfriend smiled and messed up my hair. He blamed himself for talking to me while dessert-ing. Truly, I am just an idiot. Make no mistake. I put my finger in the hand blender to scrape the lingering bits of fresh berry and accidentally hit the on-button. (Unplug, people. Unplug.) Declaring, "I think I just cut off my finger."

It's really swollen and horrible, but it wasn't the pain or the injury that kept me awake staring at the ceiling last night. It was the cellular memory of how quickly everything can change. An instant to lose a finger. Or a daughter. I remember. I was listening to my belly with Sam's stethoscope, not really thinking anything can be wrong. And then I was terrified. And then I thought, she could be dead. It wasn't a change of reality but of perception. I will never know the moment of my daughter's last heartbeat, but I will always remember the moment when I last thought she could be alive. Last night, I almost lost my finger. Not an exaggeration. It was two seconds away from being gone. I will have permanent scars and nerve damage on my left index finger, but mostly, I will be unchanged. It's just a finger on a non-dominant hand. It's not a daughter. But it reminded me of how quickly life changes.

16 comments:

  1. Shit I'm so sorry.

    And I know exactly what you mean. Here's to a speedy recovery.

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  2. Shit is a pretty good word in this situation.

    Fingers hurt, so does pride. Hope you recover from both really quickly.

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  3. Ouch. I know what you mean, knowing that life can change in an instant. xo

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  4. Angie, this is so true.

    I do hope your finger heals properly and you can make full use of it soon. It could prove tricky with Beatrice.

    Peace, my friend.

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  5. "I was listening to my belly with Sam's stethoscope, not really thinking anything can be wrong. And then I was terrified. And then I thought, she could be dead. It wasn't a change of reality but of perception. I will never know the moment of my daughter's last heartbeat, but I will always remember the moment when I last thought she could be alive."

    Yep, me too Angie. I did the same with Simon's stethoscope.

    I'm so glad you are ok. Mostly.

    Big hugs my friend xo

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  6. Ow! Hope your finger heals properly quickly.

    Yep, I know what you mean. I don't know exactly when Freyja died, but Craig and I held our son in our arms and watched him take his last breath. It's shit.

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  7. Oh no. Angie, that sounds brutal.

    And life does change so quickly, it's easy to forget that we're really just living moment to moment.

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  8. Oh Angie that is awful! OUCH!!! I will never be careless with my whizzer again! I hope it heals quickly. xxx

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  9. oh f**k!

    one moment in time changed everything.

    Blip. Blip. Blip.

    Grateful for all ten fingers, grateful for every day despite everything.

    Thank you for posting.

    lots of love
    Ines

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  10. Gah!! How much of this kind of crap are we supposed to handle? But I am glad that you're relatively ok, Ang. Be careful out there!

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  11. Mostly unchanged. I think that's the best we can hope for.

    Oh, and ouch!

    xxx

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  12. Ouch, just reading about it makes me want to pass out. Here's to a quick healing for you and the finger. I would have gone to the er...but just for the drugs:)

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  13. Yikes. Glad that Sam and wine were nearby.

    You and Joan Didion said it: Life changes in the instant.

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  14. Wow, Angie. I have chills... I'm so sorry about your finger, but I get you - it's not like a daughter. Heal swiftly from this one. Love.

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  15. OMG. I almost threw up reading that. I can't imagine how you felt! I am so sorry you have a mangled finger but am glad it is still there.

    And yes, I get that memory of the moment too when I realize that everything was over. I think that is probably what makes me want to throw up.

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  16. Oh Angie, you are brave! (and descriptive). I'm so glad you still have your finger and I'm sure it will in time heal.
    Much unlike the time it takes the heart to heal...
    I can feel the throbbing with you. I know it hurts.
    Love Lindsay

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