The Joy of Fingers

We do take our hands and fingers for granted, don't we? Whether typing today's blog, or lifting a cup of Dunkin coffee to my mouth this morning, fingers are indispensable miracles of the human body.

I was reminded of this a few weeks ago at my nephew's 17 year-old birthday party, combined with that of his 13 year-old sister a week earlier. Smart parents combining it. We had driven 45 miles north from three towns in Mercer County to attend. Nine of us, plus the four in the birthday family, still missing six from the immediate family.

My brother Ralph cooked hamburgers, hot dogs and lamb skewers on the grill, with tons of ordoerves (stuffed hot peppers my favorites), salads, fixins and lots of drinks, most non-alcoholic of course. All outside on his and Yvonne's large comfortable deck, with cushioned comfortable chairs and big picnic table, hot tub nearby looking inviting. A lovely sunny, moderate day to boot. Conversations were buzzing, and things going swimmingly. It would turn into a four-and-a-half hour affair -- a short get together for us.

Until my brother and I got back from picking up the cakes in downtown Ridgewood that is. Corinne's cake was from Carlo's, a branch of the famous Cake Boss bakery in Hoboken, as seen on TV. The cake for Corinne, a shore scene, with sand and seashells and umbrella, and blue fondant on the sides as the water. Strawberries and real cream inside. So beautiful you almost don't want to slice it. Almost. The other from Ben & Jerry's, a deep dark chocolate ice cream cake with marsh mellows and cookie dough. Decorated of course, for Julian, the older brother. Both cakes favorites of theirs.

We got back, extracted the cakes from the back of the SUV, placed them on the drinks table, and Ralph went inside. Unbeknownst to me, he left shortly after arriving. It was during the cake serving that I found out why.

Julian's friend had sliced his finger cutting one of the cakes! We hadn't known at the time, but Ralph had taken him to the hospital while we gabbed and ate. Nine stitches later, enough gauze and tape to make three fingers, and they were back. Then we heard the story.

 Two summers ago Janet nearly cut the tip of her finger off using clippers in the garden. Six stitches at Robert Wood Hospital.

I did the same thing, last summer, working in our garden using the same clippers. I drove myself to Robert Wood with my blue garage sweat towel around my bleeding finger. Six stitches for me to. Being the type of person I am, three weeks later I went to the hospital's Accounts department and asked how much my stitches cost. After some searching and obfuscation, the clerk said it was $2,250. She wouldn't give me a copy of the bikll; she said that was for the insurance company only. Really?

The $2,25o mu8st have been for initial intake, an ER bed, diagnosis, swabbing/cleaning the cut with astringent (expensive astringent!), novocaine, a doctor, stitches, bandage, and outtake. Not too bad?

I've met people, men mostly, who've lost a finger or thumb, or half of one or two. You'd never notice it really. The men I met never pointed it out.

But an 8th grade friend in Catholic school, Dave Shuster, the school tough guy and sometime bully, ran into a problem one day. Sacred Heart had a 7-foot tall spiked metal fence out front of its grounds. We all walked past it many times a day, starting with mandatory mass attendance for all students at 7:30 am.

I often hung with Dave, but not this afternoon, He left school with other eyewitnesses. Dave scooped down in his featherweights and black leather jacket . . . and jumped! High enough to touch the top of a spike on that fence, just to do it. We've all done dozens of things like that. Just kids. 

But his gold-band ring got caught on the spike. As his heavy body fell back to the sidewalk, the top half of his finger ripped off. I hear it was bloody, but that he handled it non-challantly.he was out three days. It was so bad, they had to graft skin from his body to the finger to make it halfway normal-looking . . . .

The next day the thickly wrapped finger was a badge of courage.

Do you have any Red Badges of Courage?

by Rodney Richards