I always knew I wanted to be doctor since I was a little kid. Those are the typical, most common words you hear from every person who wants to be a doctor. But its true, and as far as I can remember the desire arose when I was around 5 or 6 years old.
I was exposed to the medical world at an early age by accident…..literally. It was a bad accident and a very traumatizing experience to have to go through at such a small age. I want to say I was about 3 or 4 years old. I have never really asked my mom exactly how old I was but, going off my memory that sounds about right. I know this for a fact because it happened before I started kindergarten. I have memories of that day but just images here and there. I remember seeing my baby sister in her stroller or some kind of carrier and she had a bottle but it was a glass Gerber bottle, the old ones they used back in the days. I remember taking it from her and my mom getting mad at me because I was too old for bottles. I remember my mom sending my older sister down the street to the neighbors and I went with her. I had the bottle in my left hand and was walking in front of her and from what I was told I tripped and the bottle broke in my hand when I fell onto the ground and I do remember that we were walking on the street. But from my recollection I could have sworn my sister accidentally stepped on the back of my heel. Anyways whatever happened was not good and it did not end well either. I remember being picked up rushed home to my mom and my mom panicking and hysterical. Til this day I can vividly recall how bad the hot running water felt on my skin, yup my mom put my hand under hot running water I guess to help with the bleeding I don’t know why, but mom was no expert and it burned like hell. I was screaming and crying and trying to jerk my hand away and there was blood everywhere on the bathroom sink and the bleeding would not stop.
That’s the last thing I remember of that day……
Next thing I know we are packing and on our way to what would be my journey through a couple of surgeries. And they didn’t go so well at least not with me; nope I was not having any of it! I was the terrible, typical stubborn toddler who just did not want to be touched poked or even looked at. My next recollection is being in the operating room and they are about to put me down with anesthesia and I put up a fight. I don’t know exactly what happened but I remember looking to my side and seeing a Surgeon doing something to my hand and I am just pulling away with all my tiny strength. I was mortified, terrified and felt so lost in a world I knew nothing about and the doctors and nurses were like aliens to me. Eventually they won because I woke up and I was in this beautiful place it was quite magical, at least that’s how I saw it from my perspective as a little kid. It was the famous Ronald McDonald House of Charities and I just remember it was this really nice place. The place gave me comfort, made me and my family feel welcomed and made our stay very pleasant. For me it was over the top because there were so many toys like I barely even had one toy back home and here I was in this place and lots of toys. I wish my parents had pictures of me in my little gown and my hand all bandaged up but they could not even afford the medical bills let alone one camera. All I have are good memories from that place that gave my mom and dad some peace while going through a difficult time.
From then on I had a couple more surgeries and lots of physical therapy and as time went by I actually looked forward to the doctors visits. I was very observant, there were so many things done to me along the way it was very interesting to watch. Like for example, getting my dressings changed and sometimes I had special things done to my finger with metal insertions here and there so it was cool to watch everything unfold. I just didn’t like when they did all the cleaning on my incisions because it hurt but it always felt good to have my dressings changed and feel fresh and renewed with each passing time. Each passing visit I grew stronger and tolerated more things along the way. And like I said I was very observant, so I was just analyzing everything they did to me and found it really interesting. Also, all the staff everywhere and anywhere I would go, would always treat me and my mom really good. She is the one who always went in with me the majority of the time. Unfortunately because I was so young the Surgeons could only do so much for me at the time. My mom was told that I would require more extensive surgeries and they suggested she wait until I was a little more older. I was actually a good patient only and if they weren’t trying to put me under. Its kind of funny looking back because I remember putting up a hell of a fight each time. It was like I was getting murdered and I was fighting for my life. I think I remember punching and kicking a Surgeon and he was over it, like OK I’m done with this kid. Yeah I was that bad when it came to the operating part.
So it was left at that and I continued to go to physical therapy for a few years but after that it became hard for my mom especially because of financial problems and as time went by life happened and I grew up and we never followed up again. Well actually we did and I was already a teenager but by then supposedly a Surgeon we consulted with said it was to late to anything for me we waited to long and what not. So what happened in the accident is that piece of glass went right through my hand in between my index finger and my middle finger. The piece of glass cut right through my tendon as a result I ended up with lots of damage including the inability to bend my finger. It could have been worse but I was lucky, by the way the same Surgeon that said nothing else could be done suggested that I get it amputated. Heck to the no was I going to do that it was still useful to me. My finger however never grew, as I got older it stayed the same as when I was a toddler. But I have tried my best to use it as much as possible. It can be challenging sometimes and every now and then (not always), it hurts because I have to strain it to put it to use. And when its winter time I have to make sure its kept warm because any exposure to the cold causes it to get stiff as a board and it starts to hurt. I used to slice it on accident when I was first learning to cook and used to bang it here and there while doing things growing up. It was challenging as my movement was very limited but I didn’t let that stop me from doing anything!
This is your very first post. Click the Edit link to modify or delete it, or start a new post. If you like, use this post to tell readers why you started this blog and what you plan to do with it.