Accident Prone

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It was my year to shine, or at least that was the plan. September 5, 2004 marks the day that changed my life. It was the second day of my sophomore year at East Hampton High School. I was going to be starting on the varsity volleyball team. That day we were having our first scrimmage of the season against Eastport High School, one of our biggest rivals. Little did I know I had another rival to worry about that day.

The boy’s volleyball team had just had a quick practice before our scrimmage. It was nearing the end of their practice and the entire girls team was planted on the sidelines anticipating the game ahead. Finally! The boy’s team cleared out of the gym and we all immediately started on getting the court “game” ready. A few other teammates and myself went to the net to lower it down to the female height. All of a sudden, the gym was dark. The overhead lights for some unknown reason all turned off. We all looked into the hallway but those lights had not gone out. We all thought perhaps the weather, but that couldn’t be the case because it was a beautiful day. We call out to coach, “Well, what should we do?” Since it was about 4:00 in the afternoon it was not completely dark in the gym so our coach instructed us to keep setting up.

Seven holes. We knew the pole was at the correct height when seven peg holes were showing, therefore the peg sat in the eighth hole. In order for us to change the height a few things needed to happen. First, the peg has to be removed from its current hole. Second, the two knobs that keep the pole still needed to be loosened. Both of these had already been done and one of my teammates was holding up the pole in place waiting to hear how much to lower it. It was dark enough to the point where you weren’t able to distinguish individual hole. So I reach up to the top of the pole and start running my right index finger down along the holes to count them. One…two…three…four…

I hear a gasp and look up to see the top half of the pole dropping and in a split second pull my hand away. The exact words that came out of my mouth were, “Whoa, that would have hurt!” As I was saying this I was shaking my hand as if something had happened. This is when I felt something that can honestly probably never fully be explained in words. One of the last things that I vividly remember is a rush of coldness.

I slowly pull my hand into my vision and see the whitest white I have ever seen. Bone. My bone. The top half of the first joint was gone. From this point on I went into shock. My best friend grabbed me and called out for help. The coach and trainer sprinted over and brought me to the trainer’s office. My finger was immediately bandaged up, the ambulance was on its way, and my mother had been called. The trainer had told my mother to meet us at the hospital because I had “dislocated” a few of my fingers playing in order not to worry her even more.

Sitting in the trainer’s room all I remember feeling is anger. How could this happen to me now? It was only the second day of school; I was supposed to be starting. This was my year. Next thing I know the EMTs were next to me asking me a few questions. I also remember a police officer being in the trainer’s room trying to ask me questions about what had happened. This to me was absolutely ridiculous because I was in a complete state of shock and really was not aware of what was going on. When it was time to get me into the ambulance my coach decided to come with me to the hospital. The cooler containing the remnants of my finger were also along for the ride.

My hand is lying on my chest and all I can feel from my finger is a terrible pulsing. The ambulance sirens drowned all possibilities of focusing on anything but the current situation. Trying to keep my mind occupied I just started watching the road behind us. As I’m staring out of the back of the ambulance I see a car gaining us quickly. As it got closer I was able to start making out the details and make of the car. Blue… convertible…wait!

The speeding car behind us was none other than my mom. I tell my coach and she gets the ambulance to pull over. My coach drove my mom’s car and my mom jumped into the ambulance with me. Now remember, she thinks that I dislocated some of my fingers. I can’t say that I broke the news to her gently. I instantly start crying and screaming that my finger is in the cooler behind her. My mother extremely confused at this point, looks to the EMT for conformation and he nods his head. Ten minutes left in the drive…

We arrive at the hospital and I’m rushed into triage. Soon after getting hooked up to the IV my dad showed up. Since I ate and drank something a couple hours before the accident I was not allowed to go into surgery right away. I also had to get x-rays to see the bone damage that was done. The plastic surgeon then came in to check out my finger. Before I went into surgery he had to numb my entire finger. As my mother covered my face he stuck the needle right into the open flesh and about halfway down my finger. As unlucky as this day was it was the “best” day of the week for this to happen. This plastic surgeon, who is well known for this type of work, was only working that day.

Next thing I remember was being transferred onto the cold surgery table. There were straps around my legs and waist. My arm with the injured finger was strapped to an extension of the table. The blanket they put on me was the only warm thing in this room. The mask was lowered onto my face and time disappeared. I woke up to my mother and father next to me. Everything in this time frame is extremely hazy. I distinctly remember being in the elevator but have no other recollection of how I got to my room. The overnight stay was definitely not enjoyable as expected with a hospital stay. The next afternoon I was released from the hospital.

Because some bone was taken off with the slice the surgeon had to shave down the remaining rugged edges. He completely reshaped the padding of my finger. The entire nail was also gone so he had to reconstruct a nail bed. Between this new nail bed and cuticle he put a piece of foil to “hold” the place of a potential new nail. He informed my parents that there was a high chance a new nail would not grow. I was just going to have to wait and see.

Little did I know, the next few weeks were going to be the most painful and difficult weeks of my life. The concept of time did not apply during the next week. Each minute, hour, and day seemed to blend together. I know that people came to visit me but I wouldn’t even be able to tell you whom they were.The first few days were definitely the toughest. My mom stayed in my room with me to make sure that I was comfortable and got my antibiotics and painkillers at the right times. I tried to sleep as much as possible the next few days. My mom said that occasionally I would scream in my sleep clearly from the pain but have no idea that I had done that the next morning.

Being an extremely independent person, having to rely on other people to help you all of the time was really tough. For the first week my mother had to help me shower because I couldn’t scrape up the energy. The littlest actions and “events” took so much out of you.

The only thing on my mind was when I was going to be able to play again. The doctor basically said that playing again that season was not going to happen. As an athlete and avid volleyball player I was not going to settle for that. Well, my left hand worked perfectly fine so I learned how to do everything with that one to keep myself busy.

By the time I had gotten back to classes the story of the accident had spread like wild fire. I had people coming up to me saying that they had heard my entire arm was cut off. Outside of school my time was spent at physical therapy. I had to relearn how pick things up and basically relearn touch sensations. Since all of my nerve endings were cut off I was basically starting over.

About six weeks later I was back on the court. Just in time for playoffs! Playing was extremely painful. Anytime my finger was hit I cringed, but I had to keep playing through it…all for the love of the game.

About three years after the accident I filed a lawsuit against the high school. As it turned out the poles had been “defected” for at least a year and a half before this happened. A couple of the coaches had had close calls with the top part of the pole dropping unexpectedly or getting jammed. A few work orders were put in to get them fixed but it never happened. I ended up getting a decent settlement from the case. When people heard about the actual amount of the settlement they would say “Wow, looks like I should cut my finger off to get some money”. I can truthfully say that I would give that money back in a heartbeat if I could somehow get my finger back.

This is something that affects me every single day. I tend not to use it at all now. My middle finger has basically taken over its job. Picking things up or gripping things is very difficult to do. I’ve had to learn how to grip the pen differently when I write because I can’t really put any pressure on the end of my finger. If I hit my finger in just the right way it can send me through the roof. Cold temperatures were also my newfound enemy. Since all of the nerve endings were cut off the new ones are extremely sensitive to the cold weather. This is something that will never go away. I know this because my father still experiences this pain twenty-five years after he cut his finger off.

The strange thing is that more and more I find myself not utilizing my intact left index finger. It’s like I subconsciously think that this happened to both of my fingers. I will go to something up and I’ll look down and see that I’m sticking my index finger straight out as I usually do with my right index.

Others tend to notice my finger a lot. I always catch people staring at my finger but very few will actually ask what happened. When I go to get a manicure the manicurist will pick up my finger and “pretend” to file it and just quickly jump to the next normal finger. The surgeon really did a good job and it looks as natural as it can but definitely stands out more than the other fingers.

A person is not defined by the experiences they have had but by what they take away from it. These experiences make a person unique and allow them to build character. To many people this accident may have altered their life majorly. For myself, this was merely another bump in the road.

Image Credits

High School: http://www.longislandschools.com/long-island-school-photos/east-hampton-high-school.jpg
Light Bulb: http://mysterycreature.files.wordpress.com/2009/07/light-bulb.jpg
Seven: http://blog.luckyvitamin.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/12/seven.png
Anger: http://joefelso.files.wordpress.com/2007/10/anger-m.jpg
Cooler:: http://www.coleman.com/coleman/images/products/6278-703G_200.jpg
Ambulance: http://s3.images.com/huge.67.338432.JPG
Surgery Room: http://www.newmanmemorialhospital.org/images/Surgery%20Room.JPG
Question Mark: http://www.thewashingtonnote.com/twn_up_fls/question%20mark%20twn.jpg
Clock: http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XBHXbtDuiKY/R_jjnxj5ZBI/AAAAAAAAAT8/jcDokA_08eQ/s400/melting_clock.jpg
Beach Net: http://organizingla.blogs.com/photos/uncategorized/volleyball.jpg
Volleyball Player: http://www.bj08.asia/images/sports/volleyball_beach.png
Money: http://www.cps.k12.in.us/crownpoint/lib/crownpoint/money.jpg
Speedbump: http://www.toonpool.com/user/997/files/road_success_biggest_speed_bump_245975.jpg