Help

I'm a person who prides herself on being self sufficient. I have to be. My independence is a large part of my identity, but I've found that over the years I don't cling to that the way I used to. I have a family now – I’m a wife – and with that I have to let go a little. I'll be the first to admit I'm a work in progress when it comes to letting go, but I am making an effort and I know I'm better than I used to be.

This weekend I found myself in a situation where I couldn't be completely self sufficient though. I had a weekend full of plans with friends. The first 'fun' weekend I'd had in awhile. I was really looking forward to everything, and then suddenly my plans were changed with the slice of a cucumber.

I was making a salad to take to a girlfriend's baby shower on Saturday morning. A cucumber salad. I was trying to get everything done and I was keenly aware that I was running late. As I finished slicing the cucumber in my hand I was thinking about everything I still had left to do, and then I felt it. I looked down, and for a split second I saw the white of freshly exposed flesh on the edge of my thumb. Flesh that had never seen sunlight. Or had felt air. Or had encountered cucumber juice. And just as quickly it was covered in a gush of blood.

I had, quite literally, cut off part of my thumb.

I quickly grabbed a paper towel and squeezed down on my finger. Looking back to the cutting board I flipped over the mandolin and saw a pinky nail sized piece of flesh stuck to the underside of the blade. I carefully slid it off and placed it back on my thumb. Not so bad, right? It was a decent enough chunk that I wasn't going to write it off, but at the same time I doubted any Dr. would see it as worth sewing back on. It was at that point I froze and realized: I had no idea where to go. I didn't know where the Naval Hospital was on base, and even if I did, it wasn't like I could drive myself there. I quickly grabbed my phone with my free fingers and started calling my girlfriends in the area. They were all military wives so I knew someone would know where to take me. Every number I called went unanswered. Who knew that at 10a on a Saturday morning I'd go 0-4 when there was an actual emergency? That was when the panic started to set it. I didn't want to call 911 because it wasn't a life threatening emergency. I wasn't able to really type well because of the pressure I was holding on my hand, so Googling what I didn't already know was out of the question. I don't think I've ever felt more alone or isolated than I did at that moment. All of my self sufficiency wasn't doing me a lick of good right then. I needed help, and for once when I was willing to seek it out and accept it I couldn't find any. I could feel tears in my eyes in sheer frustration at my situation. The one thing I wanted more than anything was for D to be there, and that was the one most impossible thing I could have asked for.

I sat for a moment and racked my brain, trying to think of what my options were, and I realized the most obvious option lived next door. I'd met my neighbors on a few occasions and had even exchanged contact info with them, and while I hate imposing on people I don't know very well, this was one time I knew I didn't have a choice. I quickly made my way next door and rang the doorbell. As I stood on their porch I realized I was shaking. My nerves were starting to fail me as the gravity of my situation was starting to sink in.

I had just cut off part of my thumb 15 minutes ago. Holy $%*&!

My neighbor answered the door still in his bathrobe and was his usual jovial self until he saw the look on my face and the bloody paper towel clenched in my hand. I tried to return his now faltering smile but I just couldn't do it. He asked me, "What happened? Did you cut yourself?" and I could see his smile fading fast, being quickly replaced by a look of concern. I opened my mouth to tell him and suddenly got choked up. I don't know why. I finally managed to squeak out, "I need help."

The next ten minutes were a blur. He brought me into his kitchen and sat me on a stool at the breakfast bar. I could tell he was starting to panic too because he was pacing back and forth as he asked me questions. I managed to tell him what happened but my composure was completely gone at that point. The tears were streaming down my face and I could not make them stop. He brought me some tissues while he went and told his wife what was going on. He then came back and asked me which hospital I needed to go to, and I had to admit I didn't know. He wanted to call the medics but I protested. I knew he was feeling overwhelmed and wanted someone to take care of me right away, but in spite of everything happening, the entire situation - the bloody paper towel in my hand, the piece of my thumb that was no longer attached - the first thing that popped into my brain when he said call the medics was, "and how much will that cost me?" (Ah, the Ever Present Question... the true sign of a new homeowner, right?)

He was adamant about calling though, so I let him. Within three minutes they were there, and suddenly it was like the pages of a firefighter's calendar walking into the kitchen. I didn't know that many good looking guys could be in the same room at once. I'm pretty sure you need a permit for that sort of thing. They were all very nice and professional, but I'm sure they could see that I was shaken up. After peeling away the paper towel so they could see the damage they weighed in on my options. They echoed my assessment that there wasn't enough to sew back on, but the flap was just large enough that it'd leave a sizable dent if removed. They asked me if I wanted them to take me to the hospital, but I thanked them and declined. That just seemed way too overkill to me for what amounted to a flesh wound. My neighbor's wife had emerged from getting dressed at this point and offered to take me to the ER, so I took her up on it. A wave of relief washed over me as I got into her car. I knew everything was going to be alright.

After all was said and done I didn't get any stitches (no surprise). I currently have a mummy thumb, all wrapped in gauze, and go back tomorrow for my 'wound check'. The term the nurse used when calling back for my treatment was "partial finger amputation".

Yuck.

I'm doing better now. I got to talk to D on Saturday night which helped a lot. He was sympathetic to my plight but he's been dealing with his own issues lately (work related,) so we both talked about what was on our minds. I wish it was easier for us to have those types of conversations, I always feel so much better after we do. I'm grateful that I have such wonderful neighbors, and that I was able to push my comfort zone and ask for help when in less severe circumstances I might not have been able to.

As far as my self sufficiency is concerned, even I realize that there are limits to what we can do for ourselves. I just feel fortunate that I was able to get help when I really needed it.