Ouch!

This is what my hand looks like today. It's not too painful, as long as I don't use it. Our put pressure on the fingers. Or basically do anything that I need to get done today.

This is the story . . . . . . .I'm not sure why, but I decided about a year ago that I wanted to buy a new hedge trimmer. Our old hedger was at least 15 years old and couldn't cut a blade of grass. When it was time to trim the big bushes, we always just used manual clippers. Which, as you know is slow and time consuming.  I had visions of myself with our new Black and Decker 18 volt cordless Hedge Trimmer, sculpting the landscaping in no time flat, to the amazement of all of our neighbors.

So last week I bought this very model at Home Depot, and I plugged in the rechargeable battery, waiting for time to use my new toy. I might add that I have never actually used a hedge trimmer. But it looked really cool, and I really like power tools. They make me feel powerful and . . . . . well, I guess just really powerful.

So, Saturday afternoon we had about a zillion things to do. We had just returned from Joseph's soccer game and buying supplies to make food for a church potluck that evening. We had also picked up a friend to play with Joseph. As I ran back and forth, cleaning, laundrying, mothering, dish doing, I noticed my super cool  new hedge trimmer just patiently waiting for me in the garage. The sun was out, so I decided to whip the back yard into shape. I ran inside with the tool and clipped off the tags and plastic.  Dan, who had just sat down to watch the BYU game, commented, "You look dangerous."  I walked outside, revved the motor, and giggled, "Yes, I AM dangerous."

And then I started trimming. And it was a beautiful thing.  I made short work of an overgrown forsythia and a big butterfly bush. Then, in the back of our raised bedding area, I noticed the tall rose-like bush which was sorely in need of a trim. And I remembered what a pain it is to cut the branches, because they are covered in super sharp and long thorns.  So, I thought, it makes much more sense to attack it with my power hedger.

To reach the bush I had to lean in as far as I could reach and then I had to hold the hedger over my head to reach the tall branches.  My right hand was on the trigger and my left hand was where it was supposed to be on the handle, which apparently is designed to help you control the tool, but which also keeps your hand out of the way of the moving, sharp blade. And then . . . . the long rose branch I had cut above my head began falling right at my face, and my instinctual reaction was to reach up with my left hand to keep the thorns from hitting me. Except that when I reached up, I ran directly into the moving blade of the hedger.

Man, it hurt!  I threw down the hedger and ran into the house, spurting blood everywhere. I had only been outside trimming for maybe 5 minutes. Dan was still watching the BYU game and didn't look up when I entered. I could hardly talk, but I alerted him with a strangled, "Hurt . . . .hand. . . . .help."  I tried washing off the wound in the sink to assess the damage and I saw that the wound on one of the fingers had laid back flesh all the way to the bone.  And I couldn't stop the bleeding.

And so right then the focus of our day shifted.  Everything else we had to do went out the window. Bailey, who was waiting to be picked up for a church activity, grabbed towels for me to apply pressure and Dan threw Joseph and his friend into the van. We careened down the street and Dan hustled both boys into the friend's house. (Later the mom of the house, my friend Kristen, reported that Joseph said, "I think my Mom cut off her finger or something. And she was crying. I didn't know that Moms cry.")

When we arrived at Urgent Care there was a long line and a lot of people waiting. It was one of their busiest days ever, they said. But, it turns out that they push you to the front of the line when you are bleeding all over the check-in counter (good to know).

The nurse poured some numbing liquid into the wounds, which brought some serious relief. The doctor assessed and then stitched me up. The worst wound was the pointer finger, which was cut to the bone. Another finger was sliced, but not as badly, and my hand required some stitching as well. By now the pain had subsided, and I found the stitching process really remarkably interesting. I have never, ever, in my 41 years been injured and required stitches (Neither have any of our kids! And, for the record, I've never broken a bone either). 

I was really lucky. This could have turned out much worse. It would have been easy to lose a finger. Or, at the very least, sever the tendon in my finger, which would have required a hand surgery. Skin wounds will heal quickly.

After we got back from the doctor Joseph scurried around helping me and making me special get-well things (both girls were gone at activities).  He gave me a tray with a flower and a note and a slice of pizza.  "But," he said,"I'm not giving you a knife."  Good, idea, Joseph.  Apparently I can't be trusted around sharp things.
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So, here I sit on a Monday morning with a million Monday morning things to do. Laundry, dishes, house cleaning, food preparation, shopping.  None of which are very easy to do with one hand. So, our house might be a mess (until my family comes home and cleans it), but today I'm a little wiser. I have developed a healthy respect for power tools. And, I think I needed a reminder that I am not invincible!