The hand surgeon looked at my thumb yesterday and said it seems to be healing OK just like it is. Sure was a nice change for me to be the one to say “I told you so” to 3 or 4 of the women in my life… They wanted to call 9-1-1 and have me airlifted into the guaranteed waiting area of some dismal E R on Thanksgiving Day for blood transfusions, rehabilitative srugery and/or prosthesis fitting. Thanks to son-in-law Franz on my side and some good duct tape we managed to put it back together. Who wants to miss THANKSGIVING DINNER with family for anything less than an elk hunt in the mountains?
So after a good dinner and an afternoon nap daughter Julieann just said “get your hat, Dad, you ARE going to the E R with me!” And with her mother’s backing, they hauled me in. Then I had to answer one question asked a jillion times and in different ways from a jillion nurses:”why didn’t you get here sooner?”
But they did Xray it and wrapped it up and insisted that I see an orthopedic surgeon the next day. . . and they saw no more of me than hip-pockets and boot bottoms as we hit the door. They gave me pain killers that were worse than the pain so I quit them ASAP. And they shot me with an antibiotic and gave me a prescription to begin immediately.
Of course, no descent surgeon is going to answer his phone on Black Friday (and I let the thing ring 3 times!) So by Monday when the surgeon did get a look at it, he declared that it was already healing and just keep it clean, keep taking the antibiotics and watch for infection.
Dr. did reduce the size of the bandage but the ole’ thumb is not only useless, it gets in the way of . . . well, just about everything!