Effect Essay
It was an unfortunate combination of a pushy boss, an ambush from a cat and my unwillingness to just say no to a horrible idea that cost me a better part of my right hand ring finger. Dave my boss wanted the night stands ready to go to camp that night. I had to sand the tension pegs and all I had was my belt sander. I told Dave I’d bring my table sander down tomorrow and we could make the pegs in a safer fashion. He’d have none of that, he wanted them done there and then. I gave in against a nagging in my head that was telling me I was making a bad decision. So away I went sanding five inch pegs on a belt sander with my fingers. It was actually going better than I assumed, I only have three more to go and I’d be done. At that point B.B., Dave’s wife’s cat came tearing out of nowhere and startled me. I turned my head and as I did my finger got sucked into the back roll of the sander and was obliterated. I’m not short three quarters of one finger. It’s not a life stopper and I’ve become used to it. It does give my friends yet another go-to point for giving me shit. They say I can now only count to nine and a quarter. However, it has had some significant drawbacks that constantly remind me of my error.
I can’t hold my nuts. No, seriously, nuts, bolts, small food pieces fall right out of my hand. Whereas most folks can make a sealed pouch with their hand to contain small parts, I cannot. I’ve got a little hole that lets things slip out. I’m used to it for the most part now but I’ve lost and dropped more fasteners by forgetting this defect in my hand. I’ve also dumped candies, popcorn and other edibles all over me by trying to get them from bowl to mouth by the handful. Now, most would say I’m a fool for not just using my left hand for such activities but I’m left handed. A lot of times my right hand is doing the mindless stuff while my dominant hand is doing the finesse work.
The second downside comes during inclement weather. Much like an older person with arthritis, I can tell when it’s going to rain or snow. You think it would be good to know this in advance and I’m sure it would if the system used to deliver such notices was not throbbing pain. It also gets achy at temperatures most consider “good working weather”. Around thirty-five degrees my poor stub starts to sting, as it gets down into the teens or lower I have to keep my finger crammed under my arm or tucked into one of the other heat pockets of the human body. While working I do this, only taking my hand out when it is actually needed for something. I also where a thin glove under my work glove to retain as much heat as possible.
Lastly is the side effect that will literally bring me to my knees. See, when the surgeon did what repairs he could to my finger he didn’t have much to work with. All he could do round the bone over, find a flap of skin and stitch it back up. So I’m left with a nub that has just flesh and nerves at the point of it. When I accidentally jam that finger it sends such a jolt of pain through me I’m taking out of action for up to ten minutes. This doesn’t happen often anymore because I try to be conscious of that finger when doing activities of the rougher, or industrious natures. But for about six months after the surgery, I cried in pain more than I had the rest of my life. Usually if that finger gets hit now it’s a rare fluke or due to someone else’s actions.
Sometimes I guess and wonder what the worst result would have been if I’d just told Dave to get bent. He may have huffed and grumbled and got over it. He may have fired me. Either of those would probably have been worth it to have that two inches of finger back. But what bothers me the most is every time I think about what I have to deal with; the lost nuts and bolts, the cold and the pain is the night stands themselves. Dave designed them and I built them but I lost my finger for some of the cheapest ugliest nightstands I’ve ever seen.