What I Hated the Least Today 231/365: Idiotic Accident

26 comments

Dear Universe,

thank You for not letting my fingers get amputated.

I’ve been involved in an idiotic accident. It involved a lift door and my fingers. It hurt. It looked far worse than it turned out though. I not only survived, but I kept all my fingers attached. So, thank you, Universe.

It happened as I was dragging some packages to my (landlord’s) flat on the sixth floor. I moved part of the load out the lift when the door started closing. The idea was to prevent the rest of my packages from going away with the lift and getting thieved. I thought I was a superwoman (or I just didn’t think) and stuck my fingers in the lift door, hoping the sensor would catch them and hold the door. The sensor would probably do so if there was one. Oops.

I got four out of five fingers crushed in the door nastily. It didn’t hurt as much as I thought it would, as I was probably in shock over the pain and over my own incredible idiocy. On the superwoman note, I struggled at first, but a few minutes later I just gathered all my strength and pried the door apart. I congratulated myself on surviving myself. I could have got four fingers amputated, which would be highly awkward, you know, to type with all six fingers instead of all ten.

On the bruise I applied ice, kept it there for two hours and voila, my fingers are like new. The same evening I was already practising yogic hand stands. One would hope that I learned from my experience, but I’m apparently too dumb to learn from my dumbness because the next day I put my fingers in the lift again when demonstrating to my mother what happened. I didn’t put them in all the way though. No harm was done. Except to my dignity and sense of self-worth.

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26 comments on “What I Hated the Least Today 231/365: Idiotic Accident”

  1. That subtle delay between action and thought… I have all of my digits yet only use two fingers and a thumb to type, so not all would have been lost, apart from the four fingers of course.. 😀

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  2. My question would be, why were you moving packages in the first place? I have to admit to being in fear of lift doors, large rolling and rumbling objects that can cut you off in the most unpleasant places….hands included, though if you had your fingers amputated think of the savings you’d make in nail polish…
    But I am pleased the fingers bounced back good as new, though your mother must be wondering about you when you tried it on again…lol…..but its good Mara to be able to talk about it and I’m sure in time laugh about it….

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    1. I like it how you go to the root of the problem, which was moving packages. Well, they were delivered to me and I wanted them upstairs in the flat, so that’s why… I have clearly no fear or respect of lift door or other possibly dangerous objects. I should cultivate some healthy respect and fear to prevent killing myself. While I am suicidal, it would awkward if my death weren’t to be deliberate but accidental. It’s a fun story to tell now, and I need to remember to be more careful. I’d hate it not to be able to polish my nails with amputated fingers.

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      1. Sort of a mute point isn’t it, no fingers=no polishing…sad when you think about as I’m sure with so many things when you don’t have it all you can do is imagine it all….I’m a bit that way with money…lol

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  3. You know I think the world of you, right? So, please forgive me for busting a gut laughing at you when I read the words, “…I’m apparently too dumb to learn from my dumbness because the next day I put my fingers in the lift again when demonstrating to my mother what happened.” Up until that point, I was feeling deep sympathy for you in your time of suffering. I swear. 😁

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    1. I am happy that you laughed at me, after all, what other reaction is more appropriate to my dumb story? I told the story for amusement, so laugh away 😀 And be careful where you put your fingers.

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  4. I too congratulate you on surviving yourself. That is celebration worthy. As for the dumbness – lol !!! Don’t push your luck. Your survival may well depend on it 🙂

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  5. Yow, horrifying…gave me flashbacks to the myriads of times my fingers and thumbs were slammed by the car-door, which was shut rapidly by a snickering older brother. Some of my nails are still ridged. Delightful times.

    Another memory crinkles to mind. One Sunday morning, I was so daft that I did not notice a moving car and my foot was promptly run-over. Luckily, the ground was a bit sandy and the foot merely sank into the soft earth and walked away in functional condition. Me mum was so upset, (despite my lack of blood-coagulating screams and my nonchalant insistence that it did not hurt), that she insisted on dragging me back into the house to plop my perfectly fine foot into a bowl of ice. As I sat there while she and Sir (me dad) decided on whether or not I should go to hospital (apparently, my insistence that I was fine was hardly credible), I realised something wonderful. This meant no Sunday mass. I became absolutely giddy with delight realising this. It was a glorious morn that resulted in me finally convincing them of the functionality of my foot and later running about the yard, hooting in the majestic morning sunshine, scrabbling up the tree, and cavorting with squirrels, without having the day stained with some awful service delivered by an ostrich-faced, bulbous-eyed, vulture-slumped, xanthic-toothed priest. My parents were Catholic for a while when I was young. Happily, they grew out of it.

    So glad you came out of the ordeal unscathed, apart from a mangled sense of dignity and pride. I am in that state frequently (sardonic and pious looks from my sneering feline masters reminds me of this on a daily basis), so you have bumbling company.

    Regards,

    Autumn Jade

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    1. Your family sound delightful. In its own way. It’s funny how nasty creatures brothers are – mine dropped me on my head when I was a baby. He claimed he didn’t meant to but you never know. Your story with your foot being run over by a car is the winner though. Quite horrifying. I’m happy you emerged from your ordeals unscathed, mostly, so you could tell your story!

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  6. About seven or eight years old, standing by the big double doors into the school. Door swings open – attention elsewhere and fingers slip casually into the gap between the door and the frame. Door swings to. Fingers pinched, pinched, oh my God, pinched. Free hand reaches madly for the door handle. Can’t quite reach at full stretch and not strong enough to lever the door open anyway (small boy v. big door). The doors are glass in the upper panels. Boy contorts face through glass, screaming for help. Vacuous faces stare back, uncomprehending. Several light-years of pain pass and then door swings open as another kid comes out. Boy pulls fingers out. Miraculously – they are there and not flattened like worms. They function OK. He remembers that event for years and years, even until today.

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