Whenever my husband announces that he is going to do some woodwork in his garage, my alarm bells ring, I go into high alert and assemble the disinfectant and various sizes of plasters. This time we had to rush to the doctor – after hours, whie she was out jogging, as passing his hand carelessly across his radial arm saw while it was spinning had resulted in a deeper cut than usual. She rushed back.
Although my husband did cut a large piece of flesh out of one finger (stitched back on nicely), the index finger looks worse because it couldn’t be stitched as the cut was too ragged. This is his trigger finger. Typically, this accident happened two days before we went on our annual visit to the Karoo, which includes shooting our venison for the next year. So for me, it’s back to helping him shower, washing his hair, spreading his toast, cutting his meat, doing his typing, putting his socks on etc. Etc. I’m not doing his shooting though. When we came back from a few days rowing on the Orange River once, I suddenly found that I could not use my thumb and index finger of my right hand. Among the many many things that I couldn’t do for two months, the things I remember most were: I couldn’t – squeeze a peg to hang washing, operate a can opener, spread butter, do up a zip, blow my nose, open a jam jar or turn the ignition key to start my car !!! I defy any female to lean across and manage this. Meanwhile, my husband’s wounds keep leaking through his bandage and giving me lots of washing. I do admire the way salt takes out blood though. There’s not a residual mark on anything.
So we finally sat down on the day of the accident to watch the rugby and I was asked to cut the biltong (or beef jerky), I thought to myself: “Mind your fingers!”