Chapter One

The day in May started much like any other. I woke up seconds before my alarm went off giving me enough time to switch it off before it even started. I have an outstanding ability to set my internal alarm to wake me up at any random time. I like to wake up just before my alarm goes off so that I don't wake Clarissa up. She gets up later than me and it's nice to disturb her as little as possible. I dressed myself in jeans and a button down dress shirt. It was casual Friday at work and I was excited about the weekend ahead. That evening we were going to head up north for the weekend. The whole family was going to be there. I was working that day in the Appleton office which meant I was going to be home nice and early.

After work I decided to mow the lawn before Clarissa got home so that I wouldn't have to do it after getting back from the cottage at the end of the weekend. I decided to "do it old school" and dug out a black and grey striped shirt that was buried in the back of my dresser. I mowed the lawn in flip flops and I remember thinking about how much it would suck running over my feet. After mowing the lawn I ran down to my basement to grab something and saw a jar of dilly beans (pickled green beans) sitting on my work bench. I decided that I had to eat them. I was hungry but was trying not to eat before Clarissa got home as I knew that she would be hungry and it would be nice to eat together. The beans seemed like a good compromise as they wouldn't fill me up but would satisfy my urge to eat.

At this point you may be wondering what a jar of beans was doing on my work bench in my basement. My family has a history of loving dilly beans. My grandparents used to have a very large garden in their backyard and would can jars of them every year. I used to love going over to their house to eat them. My parents kept this tradition alive and started canning their own homegrown beans. They gave me two jars of them earlier in the year. The two jars that they gave me were from 2006. The lids were a little rusty and were on pretty good. I fought with the jars for months and eventually did get one of them open. The second was causing me more difficulty. I had them since January but still, four months later, was not successful in getting them both open. I tried everything. Eventually I put the unopened jar down in my workshop to tinker with on a different day…bad move.

I wanted the beans pretty badly. After spending a futile minute trying to open it with my hands I decided to put it upside down in the vice on the tool bench. I secured the lid of the jar in the vice and put both of my hands around the jar. My goal was to turn it just enough to loosen the lid. I leaned in and tried to turn the jar. What happened next is a blur. I remember hearing a pop and feeling myself getting splashed with something wet. My first thought was "I'm in trouble". There were broken pieces of glass and green beans lying all over the vice, the work bench, and the floor. I don't recall looking at any of it. I immediately looked at my hands and saw blood on both to them. The middle finger on my left hand looked a little like a hot dog that was boiled to the point of splitting open. There wasn't much blood. The cut on my left hand was bleeding a bit and my wedding band was pooling it up. I felt that I was in shock and had to move fast. I started to head upstairs to where my brother Andy was. I said "Andy, I think I need you to drive me to the hospital". He came running out of the room and wanted to know what happened. I must admit…if you ever find yourself needing medical attention, Andy is the guy to get you there. He moved without hesitation and ran out to move my car so that he could get his out of the driveway (my car is stick shift and he's not comfortable with stick). While he was getting the car ready I decided to change my shirt. My feet were green and had grass sticking to them from mowing the lawn and now I was drenched with dill juice. I smelled like a big pickle. I somehow managed to change into a different shirt and made my way to the car. I told him to drive me to St. Elizabeth's. During the drive the pain started t get worse and I actually started to panic a little. I called Clarissa and left her a message informing her of the situation. Andy was asking me if I thought I severed a tendon. I told him that I didn't know. He said something along the lines of "I sure hope you didn't." He went on to tell me that someone he knew cut a tendon once and had to go through a lot. When we got to the hospital he dropped me off at the ER door and went to park the car. I checked in at the front desk and was forced to wait for what seemed like an eternity. I felt relieved when they brought me into a room…..to wait even longer! I told them that I felt like I was going to pass out so they had me lie down. Andy was still going on about tendons. He asked the woman who brought us in there about it and she said that the nurse would be able to tell. Andy made some joke about the band. Kelly and Troy were supposed to pick Andy up at the house to carpool up north so Andy called them to let them know where he was. They eventually made it over to the hospital. Kelly, Troy, and Andy were all in the room when the nurse came in and started numbing my fingers for the stitches. All three of them left when Clarissa got there. During the putting in of the stitches he told Clarissa that he could see the tendon and it was intact. I was very relieved and felt that I had dodged a bullet. I got five stitches in the middle finger on my right hand and one stitch in a knuckle on my right hand (ring finger). I was in some pain that night. The next morning (Saturday) Clarissa and I went up north. Troy drew a funny picture of me. It was some monster with blood coming out of his hands. I think it may still be on the refrigerator up there. I was supposed to go back to St. Elizabeth’s after 11 days to get the stitches taken out. I really didn't feel like going back there and spending money to have them do it so Clarissa did it before bed one night. It was pretty easy. I noticed that I was unable to bend the tip of my middle finger on my right hand. I had been noticing it for awhile but it really didn't hit home until the stitches came out since I was wearing a ton of band aids everyday until they came out. After a few days I went to see my regular doctor. It took him 2 seconds to declare that the tendon was severed. He said that I needed to see a surgeon right away. He told me about the Upper hand and Extremity Center. I asked him if there was anything I needed to do and he assured me that he would take care of everything and they would call me. After a couple of days I had not heard anything. I was confused since the doctor seemed so adamant that I see someone right away. I called his office twice and was told I'd get a call back right away….never did. Finally after calling them a third time they gave me the number for the surgery center. I ended up doing everything myself anyway! I called over and they set up an appointment that was a week away….again confusing. When I went in to meet the surgeon he confirmed that the tendon was severed and wanted to know why I hadn't seen him sooner. I had to explain the whole story to him. He told me that he wasn't sure he'd be able to reattach the tendon due to the amount of time that had elapsed. I told him that I wanted the surgery done and he had a nurse come in and put a bandage on my hand so that I could not move any of my fingers or my wrist. I wasn't really given any warning that this was going to happen.

While I was being bandaged up someone was calling my insurance company to make sure that the procedure would be covered. They eventually put me on the phone and had me call from a cubicle there. I was trying to write with my left hand and hold the phone on my shoulder. I was on the phone for 30 minutes. My surgery was set for the following day. When I got in my car it dawned on me that I'd have to shift with my left hand.