It began like any other morning, a little wet from a recent rain, the sun shining bright and early. Morning chores began around 6am, feeding and giving water to the chickens, and than onto moving pigs to a new plot of land. Machete in hand a new area was cleared and fenced lined up, and suddenly I can hear a buzzing and feel a stinging sensation, its bees. I hurriedly shout some warning to Jether and quickly turn myself to run to safety. With one thought in mind and machete in hand I run, make a leap in muddy boots and clear the fence, but after a few steps on uneven ground find myself quickly crumpling, I’ve tripped and fall forward. Somehow in the fall my hand had slipped down from handle onto blade and I know I’ve had cut my fingers.
At this point my body is in shock, I find I cannot close my fingers by myself. It feels like a dream, a very bad dream. Can I just go back to sleep and wake up again? I don’t like the way this one is going. Still in shock I walk back to the truck, my first thought is to stop the blood, I go to my glove compartment and find my cayenne pepper, for just such a time as this. I throw it on and close my fist with my left hand.
We realize this is an emergency room situation, and after grabbing my wallet and phone get in my cousins car and take off 30min to the ER. Still in shock about everything, praying over my hand, expecting God to regrow my fingers in front of my eyes. I call several people, my cousin Casey who was on a job, my Uncle Tim, and then my Dad. The conversation with my Dad went something like “Hey Dad, I’ve got some serious news, I’m still a christian, and I’m still alive, but I’ve cut my hand very seriously with a machete.” He said they would be praying. I can only imagine how he relayed it to my family.
The ER was scary, full of the unknown, I wanted a doctor to look at my hand and tell me everything was going to be alright. I was at peace, or else I was still in shock, probably both. I trusted my God through everything. My identity is not in my job or career, so if I fail at such, that’s okay, I’m a child of God.
I’m not sure I could have handled the ER without my cousin Jether, my childhood best friend. He held my hand through stitches and pricks from needles. He was the solid rock that helped me through that day.
I must’ve come out of shock a little after we got back from the ER, because the pain was overwhelming for almost 30-40 minutes. I hadn't felt the pain from the accident until then.
I went into surgery to repair tendons and came out of it quite groggy. I was fairly out of it / in a lot of pain for a day after surgery. My family was around and extended their visit by an extra couple days. I mentioned on Facebook I had no insurance or coverage and very little money, but I trusted God. I was blessed by multiple people who sent money.
I went for my checkup on Wednesday a week after surgery and found out that my pinky tendon had broken and they hadn't repaired it in surgery. I was shocked, some what disappointed with some frustration. I was given the options and the obvious answer was surgery as soon as possible for my pinky.
The second round of surgery was easier and went quicker.
I don’t know if I’ll get 100% function back in my three fingers, I hope I do, I’m praying for complete recovery. I think I have more to do with my hands, my right hand.
At this point I’ve hardly had any physical therapy. I also know its painful. It’s a stiff unused muscle kind of pain. I need to be strong mentally, physically, spiritually. Regaining strength is a slow process, but also a timely one. It takes diligence and discipline.
Until full recovery comes, I am getting good and being a lefty. I can type at a reasonable pace one handed, I can eat just fine, I’m learning to write and sign my name. If I come out of this with a perfect right hand than I’ll be ambidextrous.
