The Finger and the Blade Master

The Broken Digit

 

Ordinarily, one wouldn’t bother to write a blog about a broken finger.  There are plenty of worse things and more interesting, but I think you’ll enjoy or possibly gasp some of this. let me say though - up front - that the actual doctors involved in this were excellent: professional, caring and with a good sense of humor.  So Dr.  Ronald - if you're reading this know that you  and your team were great.  But someone needs to invest in a ring cutter of the non-saw-wielding kind. 

In the Beginning:

It was the second day of Safari when it happened.  Could have happened to anyone – and frankly I’m REALLY glad it happened to me instead of one of the kids.  We were all unfolding from the 4X4 – wild animals called – and we answered.  I had my hand in the door frame pulling myself forward from the rear seat of the Prada and seem to remember the driver commanding: “Shut the door!”  And so – the door was shut.  Thank god it was not a Mercedes of one of those other heavy, air-tight doors.  My whole hand would have been toast – or more aptly – crumbs or mush.  But this was an old and well used SUV and the doors were not so heavy nor so tight.  And this – as Martha Stewart would say – “is a good thing.”  It was a bit before anyone else realized what had happened and my hand stayed shut in the slammed door. 

Well – nothin’ to do after the scream but get out and see animals – although I have no memory of what they were.   This is Africa – no ice for swelling.  No Minor Emergency Clinic around the corner.  It was three days before we made it back to Gulu and the possibility of help.  As a good friend told his wife some years ago: “Just wrap it and go (he’s learned to regret that …)  and so we did.  I had a ring on that finger – a nice silver thing made in Ethiopia.  The finger swelled to look like a purple sausage…  Brett – traveling as always with a medical kit, devised a dandy splint and we wrapped it.  At any restaurant with ice (a rarity in these parts) we got a bag and put it around the finger.  Damn! It was my “shootin’ the bird finger!”   It’s a rather obvious finger to have wrapped and even here people know what that means and look a little askance at this white woman who seems to be making an obscene gesture – and has the audacity to wrap it in white. .  It’s not intentional – really.

Anyway – moving forward…  I called PC Medical and they called the best hospital in Gulu to see if they had/have a ring cutter – standard for any trauma or emergency center. “It is not there - but we have a man who works in the metal shop and he can cut if off under a doctor’s supervision.”  Oh Jeeze – the combination of words metal shop – cut off under supervision was making me sweat.  So we four canvassed Gulu for a pair of wire cutting dikes.  No – no such thing in Gulu.   OK – still weren’t  sure whether it  was just a nasty smash job or a break.  So we fell upon an “X-Ray and Imaging Studio”  on the second floor of a building accessed by a perilously shaky winding metal staircase leading to a balcony/walkway with no railing.  (I’m developing a better appreciation for US building codes.) I went up while the other three continue to look for a pair of dikes.    As luck would have it, while I was there I ran into the Sociopathic Head Teacher from Peter’s school - you remember the SHT?  Is there no mercy?  Well – I have broken the appropriate finger it appears.

I was ushered into a small, dreary back room, seated next to an X-Ray machine from somewhere back in the 50’s and several pictures were taken.  No protective shielding for me – 6” away, but the lab-tech left the room…  They were developed fairly quickly and I paid less than $10 US for what in the States would have been in the hundreds.   The digit was broken for sure and interesting looking bifurcated break.  How to get that ring off?

We got a private hire to the hospital and the day was getting toward afternoon.  We piled out of  the car and headed for the Casualty Department and the doctor who had been called was in surgery, so I was left to find the metal worker and negotiate the removal of the ring.  And this is where the comedy began.  You can’t make this stuff up.   And this was the sign outside the hospital the waiting area of the hospital.   I like this.

The Blade Master:

We were intercepted by a nurse to whom I told my story and suggested she might want to locate the ring-cutter soon to be known as The Blade Master.  She sent someone to the metal-working-shop and we waited outside.  Soon, a middle aged Italian man drove up in his truck, about to leave the hospital – it was  closing time, but we chatted.  He was large, boasting several days of white stubble, mischievous twinkling eyes, a  display of large fuzzy, yellow teeth and a shirt straining at the stomach.  Nothing wrong with any of  this, but not a comforting for someone who is about to cut your finger off with a saw. Oops - did I say that - I meant cut your ring off - not finger - no - not finger.

The man grinned and announced “I haf dooone eeet… using saw – don’t woorrrry!”  I WAS worried so asked how many times he had done this and he said “at least four or fiffe times.” And with what I considered a wantonly sadistic gleam in his eye, he  offered, “I haf  cut riiinggs not just frrrom feenger…!”  Asking what else had he cut rings from he said – a little too excitedly and with a deep chortle– “from peenises.”   He thought this was pretty funny and in retrospect it was downright hysterical but I’m sure  I heard several men behind me passing out.  

He left to get his equipment – and returned full of enthusiasm walking down the road toward me holding a 12” long electric rotary saw  (a router?) over his head like he the  &%#$ Statue of Liberty.  In my freaked out state, he appeared  entirely too happy about this.  There was a long cord dangling - no plug, just raw wires to stick into the outlet – meaning it could stop in mid cut… Erase any image you may have of those nice lady-like Dremel tools.   This thing was BIG with a 6" circular blade  -  rusty - well nicked.   Tim the Tool Man would have been proud.

My innards were beginning to roil as we were ushered to a treatment room where the man happily stuck the wires into a socket and turned the saw on – full squeal (the saw – not me – yet) and moved toward me – still with the twinkle in his eye – and reaching for my arm.   This man is jolly and obviously loves his work.  Me - not so much. 

A group was beginning to form as all of us gasped in horror and began to pull away from the saw, explaining loudly that he not getting near my hand with that saw.  This was pretty much the conversation:

Blade Master (BM):   “Don’t worry. You not move – no problem.”

Me: "It’s not YOUR hand."

BM: “You too anxious. Someone hold her down.”

Travis and Brett:  “You have to protect the knuckles.”

BM: "If she not move – no worry."  I sense that this man is very good at making and repairing all things metal, an expert in fact - but my finger is not metal

Me again:  "Your blade (did I say it was a 6" blade?)  is bigger than my hand and wider than my knuckles… what if it slips?”
BM - Broad grin: "No worries - if it slips - we're in hospital!"  Hahahahah

BM: “Give her drugs maybe… zanax,” but I'm thinking they're gonna have to chloroform me to get any closer with that blade...

Brett: "The safer you make this, the less you have to worry about her moving.”

BM: Grabs my arm – puts it on the table: “You just hold her.”     whirrrrrrr

Travis: “Alright everyone quiet!  Conference – outside. You - turn off the saw."

There are now six people in the room, including two Ugandan staff are frantically trying to find things to protect the knuckles and have come up with flat metal pieces to guard the rest of the hand.  Molly has left the room – feeling a bit faint at this point. 

Me: “You have a metal shop – right? You cut wires? Yes?  Go get some metal cutting dikes – now-now. This ring is silver – soft metal – dikes will work.”

BM - crestfallen: “Saw will work – you too anxious! That ring stainless – dikes not work - but we try.”  He left muttering but returned with two sets of dikes and a hacksaw. 

The smallest pair of dikes and a strong hand did the trick. The Blade Master left shaking his head over this bunch of weenies.  Wish we’d filmed this – but abject terror kinda puts the lid on creativity – especially when the photographer was getting nauseous ;-)  I think Molly got a picture of me with him the next day.  He was a good sport - asked if we had another ring to saw off. 

Great Doctors

Next day: no setting of the finger yesterday.  By the time we got the ring off everyone had left and the doctor was still in surgery but called me at home to apologize.  Really nice man - would never happen in the States.

I was met the next morning by the Dr. Ronald Okidi, the doctor PC had called.   Lovely man – he walked me through all of the paper work – short-cutting the process by hours and we were escorted into a surgical room.  Again – this would not have happened in the US.  Very personal treatment.

Everyone was allowed to stay and somewhat of a party atmosphere filled the air out of pure nervousness.  Pictures were taken…  These guys are very professional and gave me the requisite shots to eliminate any possibility of my feeling anything while they worked on the hand.  The shots were hideous I have to say and there were a lot of them.  But I had impressed upon the PC doctor who relayed the information to this doctor that I did not want to feel pain. 

Well – the broken bones in the finger had already begun to fuse  and I’ve never seem so many un-natural movements of a finger, but by that time I was feeling no pain.   Six or so x-rays later, it was clear that this finger was not going to budge and so they re-splinted it and gave me some nice little red pills for pain later.  Surprisingly, there was very little.  The knuckles are intact and I think I’ll get full range of motion with the finger someday but right now it’s still a little sausage like and the tip dips down like it’s embarrassed.

The entire bill from “soup to nuts” was  just about 200,000sh – less than $100 US dollars. 

The experience with the Blade Master – priceless.

In relaying the Blade Master story to a friend, she jokingly suggested maybe they wanted the finger for a witchcraft ritual and sent me this link: http://www.newvision.co.ug/news/648018--i-believe-my-brother-was-eaten.html

Read at your own risk – a little cannibalism goes a long way. You can always rely on your friends to make you feel better.