It Started With the Finger

Sometimes an almighty shock is needed to correct our course

This story is written in response to an invitation about life changing events and transitions, by Liberty Forrest in Hope*Healing*Humour

TW Injury detail

When I walked downstairs and into our garage, that morning. I was looking forward to my day. As a mother of five children and married to a the pastor of a church, I rarely had a moment to myself.

Today, I’d booked a retreat at a nearby Abbey and was looking forward to several hours of solitary contemplation — a rare treat. My friend Erica, had come to babysit the little ones and I was free for the day.

It was around 9am on a warm autumn morning; the New England foliage just beginning to turn amber and gold. I’d asked for a blessing from the God I then believed in, and that I’d come home, refreshed and with renewed resilience in my life.

My marriage had been a source of deep unhappiness for some time. The cracks were more like chasms appearing and I had been feeling trapped and hopeless. I no longer had any answers or hope that much would change.

I reversed the car out of the garage, got out and pulled on the cord inside to lower the heavy double door behind me. My mind was elsewhere, and I still can’t work out how or why I did what I did, but as my right hand pulled the door down using the cord, my left hand crept up between the slats on the outside of the door to pull down with both hands.

The entire weight of the door came down with a loud thud, and the middle finger of my left hand trapped between the slats.

I stood there for seconds which felt like minutes, shocked and trying to breathe. The pain had hit like a lightning bolt and I had to steel myself to pull my hand free and look at my finger. Did I even have a finger?

After several steadying breaths I pulled my hand free. The top part of my middle finger was flattened and crushed — a bloody pulp with bits of shattered nail poking up.

In those few seconds I had no idea that a catalyst for complete life change had just been initiated.

I walked very slowly back up the path and opened my front door. Erica looked up surprised,

‘Forget something?’ she began, and then,

‘Oh no! You look like you’re going to pass out — quick, lie down on the floor.’

So I lay on my kitchen floor, shocked and shaking, holding my hand up while blood trickled down my wrist.

My husband was called home from the office and I remember his reaction when he saw me, was one of annoyance rather than sympathy. My stupid accident was an inconvenient interruption to his busy morning.

The only slight benefit to all of this, was going to church the following Sunday with my bandaged middle finger raised throughout the entire service.

I was treated at the local medical centre. They were kind to me — wrapped me in a blanket because I was so cold. My finger was injected with a local anaesthetic, my shattered nail removed, it was x-rayed and confirmed broken (you don’t say?) the tip now veering off at an angle, and then carefully dressed and bandaged.

The doctor sent me home with instructions to take regular doses of painkillers, keep my hand elevated as much as possible, and change the dressing every couple of days. It would take many months for the damaged nerves to repair themselves.

I can honestly say that this was the most excruciating pain I have ever experienced. It didn’t just affect my finger — the pain was like a red hot poker travelling the entire length of my arm.

I’ve had root canals for abscessed teeth — that’s a 10 on the pain scale, and unmedicated childbirth many times — also a 10 but a different kind of 10 as it’s pain with a purpose followed by immense joy.

But this. This crushed fingertip was a 12.9.

I took pain relief every four hours, but it only lasted two before my flayed nerves started up again. Severe pain is exhausting — it takes all of our energy to manage.

The worst times were when I had to change the dressings, which would stick to my raw and unprotected nail bed. Anyone with sensory issues will relate to how sickening this was. I would sit at the kitchen table, soaking the dressing in a bowl of warm water, in the hope that it wouldn’t stick quite as much. I remember the heavy sweat on my forehead as I peeled it away, millimetre by millimetre.

My husband was disinterested. As far as he was concerned I was making far too much fuss — simply attention seeking and he was having none of it. This, by the way, was the man who once passed clean out after getting a toenail broken by a piece of heavy furniture.

The only slight benefit of all of this was going to church the following Sunday with my bandaged middle finger raised throughout the entire service. There I sat, the pastor’s wife, serenely composed, while I innocently gave him the middle finger.

Many of our congregation found this very funny. They didn’t know what I was thinking, and it took a long time for me to fully understand the metaphor. Don’t tell me that the universe doesn’t have a sense of humour. I held up my middle finger for weeks, as it was the only way to prevent awful throbbing.

After six weeks or so, with the pain finally subsiding, I became profoundly depressed and exhausted. I was unable to sleep — always the first sign that my mental health is in trouble.

The depression that followed created even more issues in our marriage and ended with me being hospitalised for treatment. He didn’t visit me once. It wasn’t long after this, that we separated and eventually divorced under truly terrible circumstances which I’ve written about elsewhere.

It seemed that the injury I’d sustained was like the first domino being toppled in a long line of many. It was a necessary shock to my system as a way of both highlighting and initiating change in a situation which had become untenable.

Something was needed to jolt us into action because my state of mind had become too helpless to make that change myself, and his was all about covering up and protecting his ego from challenge.

I’ve since learned that the depression I suffered immediately afterwards was my body going into repair mode. It wanted me to stop, go inwards, and tend to my wounds, both outer and inner. Shock has a profound effect on the body, and we need time to recover.

I’ve noticed since, extreme tiredness and needing to withdraw and rest is my normal reaction to shock and physical pain. It is not a sign of weakness, it’s a sign of wisdom.

Many years later, I suffered a similar, shocking injury when I tripped off the kerb outside my house and badly sprained my ankle. Only this time it couldn’t have been more different.

One week afterward, I went into the same low mood and fatigue, but I recognised what was happening, cancelled all activities for a week, rested, and allowed myself to be fully present with the experience. The fact that I now live with an altogether different man showed me how I deserved to be treated during times of vulnerability.

He treated me with kindness, encouraging me to rest. Gently telling me off if I attempted my usual independence. He made endless cups of tea, cooked food, drove me places, and generally behaved like a good human being. It took many years for me to get used to this, as unaccustomed as I was to being cared for.

I’m now able to see that the awful injury was needed to initiate massive change in my life, and also teach me valuable lessons on the relationship between body and mind, especially when it comes to trauma.

Our bodies often provide the alarm call when the mind is unable to respond to danger, and the mind will often remind the body that time for rest and repair are essential — not merely luxuries for wimps.

I find it fascinating how they each reflect the other in a holistic process. This has been essential for me to understand, not just for my own wellbeing but if I am also to be an effective therapist for others.

There is a hidden wisdom available in even the worst experiences, if we are open to discover it. At least, that is how it has been for me.

I stole my title, ‘It Started With the Finger’, from one of my favourite films — The Sunshine Boys, originally a play by Neil Simon. It’s film which still has me crying with laughter decades on. This particular line has been quoted in numerous situations by my partner and I.

Here’s a shout out to Roman Newell — a truly gifted wordsmith. Read if you’re ready for a paradoxical journey through darkness and light.