Tale of the fingertip and the trauma

If you are really squeamish about icky boo-boos, you should just skip to the heartwarming ending in the last paragraph right now.

If you’re only kind of squeamish, you should know that the finger isn’t actually dead, part of it simply feels that way ... and anybody disturbed by that little description ought to jump to the heartwarming ending as well. Just saying.

The rest of you can know, now, that I smashed the end of my index finger. It’s the type of injury that naturally results when a soft, relatively squishy finger is caught in the middle of a grunting heave-ho to seat together two heavy, unyielding metal parts.

Let’s just say, for the sake of any partially squeamish people who might be trying to brave the story to this point that the sudden blow to my finger created an unnatural gap under my fingernail, which is (of course) normally attached to the fleshy parts from whence it was separated.

Surely the philosopher Aristotle was right when he said that “nature abhors a vacuum” because into this void came rushing bodily fluids of a generally reddish-purple color — that and a considerable amount of pain.

As bad as this sounds, it was the absolute-white, bloodless and numb fingertip that was the most disturbing thing.

Though that three-eighths inch of fingertip has since returned to a normal, pinkish, flesh color, it has retained the nerveless, numb feeling, driving me to check it obsessively throughout the day in case, like a leper, I get a wound that I won’t feel until the infection has spread to somewhere around my elbow. It could happen.

Of course, I’m not saying that I got leprosy from squishing my finger during an unfortunate mechanical mishap. That’s just ridiculous.

Obviously, I got traumatic nail injury from the incident.

Commonly called TNI (by me), I’m hoping to bring awareness of this grave affliction to the general public.

TNI is exactly like traumatic brain injury only not involving the brain, of course — that’s only obvious — because the injured nerve cluster is located in the microcosm under the fingernail at the tip of the index digit, rather than the larger nerve cluster of the brain box located at the top end of the human body.

Unlike people with traumatic brain injury, I am able to continue working and eating and playing and participating in all those other daily functions of life — that’s what makes TNI so much worse.

Nobody knows I’m suffering. They don’t know that they should care and offer assistance with opening doors, carrying groceries, combing my hair, even typing this column, because they can’t see how I suffer with Traumatic Nail Injury.

I suffer in silence the dull thunking on that fingertip, the awkwardness of grip from that three-eighths inch of numbness. Sometimes I stumble simply walking across the floor — I’m sure it’s related to my current fingertip condition. Index fingers are important, you know.

The future is uncertain.

Since I’m always prepared for a medical emergency with the proper tools, like isopropyl alcohol and a sharp drill bit, I conducted the drilling surgery necessary to relieve the fluid pressure on the fingernail, but I may yet lose that fingernail — adding hideous disfigurement to my list of ills.

Nerves in the TNI area occasionally fire to life, causing an uncontrollable twitching that makes me type the wrong letter. Though distressingly time-comsuming, these typing errors give me reason to be optimistic about a full recovery from the trauma — unless those are the death throes of the nerve endings.

I'm sure that could happen.

I persevere and will thunk out one last message promised to those readers who can’t tolerate the realities of physical injury:

“And they lived happily ever after” … please consider donating to the TNI Foundation for the sake of the damaged digits everywhere. Thank you.

(Surprisingly, no alcohol was consumed in the making of this injury. It was purely blonde-powered at http://viewnorth40.wordpress.com.)