The finger

I hate doors for a very good reason and I don’t even know why I’ve always hated the sound of the slamming door ever since forever. I go into a fit if I hear the kids slamming the door when they’re playing – even if it’s a soft thud. They know it, they’ve been given the rap before and I’ve gone as far as DEMONSTRATE how awful it can be to have a finger slammed on. I hate car booths too…well, which is technically a door anyway…which brings me back to the point.

I hate doors.

And from today onwards, Jared will learn to have the same feeling about doors. He got his finger caught in the door.

I was, as usual, working at the computer while daddy was on his way out. None of us were paying much attention and didn’t hear the door close or the door slam. Until we hear a very desperate call for help and insane crying. The kind of crying from a kid that sends chills down your spine and you very well know, without having to look, that something’s gone awry.

Jared was sort of bent over at the waist with his finger pointing in the air. Sort of like a Michael Jackson Thriller pose, you know. I was frozen on my seat as I sat there. I am the kind of person who would run away at the sight of injury, pain, blood, gore and anger. I get queasy…which reminds me of the time my husband accidentally chipped off skin from my Joshua’s ear while ‘expertly’ giving him a haircut. I ran for dear life, grabbed some ice, wrapped them up in a handkerchief and looked the other way while trying to apply the ice on the ear. This time, it’s the same thing.

I scooped him up into my arms and closed my eyes while daddy stood there examining the finger. It didn’t help much that daddy was going, “Oh good LAWRD. He’s smashed it. Oh no, pecah the skin. The bone ok or not? Can you bend your finger? Aiyo, gone lah, gone lah…” I felt giddy as a chill ran up my spine. I could feel myself shaking like a leaf. I asked daddy to grab some ice (see the pattern there? Ice, the universal solution to everything…including headaches and coughs)

Till now, I have not seen the actual injured finger because daddy’s got it all mummified in cotton, gauze and tape. Fine, I like it this way.

But if someone else was not available during the time of crisis, after the initial paralysis, I would do the deed myself but since daddy was here, I remained in paralyzed mode for some time. Frankly speaking, I’d rather not be the one. Is it any wonder why I am not a doctor?

Anyway, although he’s pointing everywhere he goes now, he seems to be fine. I have yet to examine the finger myself but in order not to shock myself, I need to do it in the dark first. Let’s see if he dares put his finger near the door again. I bet he’s going to remember this for as long as he lives…and learn to hate doors as much as mom does…and at least he’ll hate it for a very good reason. I just thank his lucky stars that he doesn’t need to have his finger…erm…removed….detatched….erm…ok ok, fine….amputated.

I hate that word. I hate everything today!