Another sunny day in Spain with the alarm blaring in my ear at the usual wake-up time. The daily tussle with the dogs ensues before I pry the front door open and groan at my persistant and demanding need to fall face down on the bed once more and catch some more zzzzs.
I don't, of course, since this is bound to break into the few hours available on my computer- even when I know that I'll have little of that today when grocery shopping and lessons in town are on the day's schedule. I do dawdle a bit, which doesn't help any, and get to the house about half an hour later than is my habit.
Knowing that I only have a few hours for what needs to be done, I ignore the dried laundry on the lines, knowing full well that no new batch is waiting to be hung because the washing machine is on the fritz and needs to be repaired by yours truly ASAP.
Instead, I head straight into the house for a quick breakfast. The pickings are minimal, but at least there's fresh brown bread that'll do well with the last bit of cheese I manage to scrounge up from the almost empty fridge.
No coffee today: What with my stomach having been iffy these past two weeks or so, I decide to go without for a bit, and see how it goes. I know that that one cup is not to blame, but figuring that every tiny little thing adds up, I don't see how I cannot take this tiny little precaution.
There are several messages to answer and to read -along with forums and the likes that draw my curiosity every day- and though I hurry I don't get more than half an hour of studying in before we need to get ready to depart for our trip to town. Our latest insurance draft has shown a glitch with the number of our license plate on the form, so a trip to the insurance agency is bound to take some valuable time.
The car is packed to full capacity, what with mom behind the wheel, big brother in the passenger seat and grandpa, little brother and I in the back. The strong 4x4 actually has some difficulty mounting our steep drive sweep while the truck bed is fully loaded with stuff that needs to be deposited at the local land fill.
It is no easy task to do this in neat clothes, but we manage and get to the insurance agency just fifteen minutes before closing time. For a while it seems as if they won't be able to correct the error, what with the password to our particular file not working, but in the end, just after closing time we have the certificate we need and are on our way once again.
I have no idea how long we've been driving with the faulty insurance, I'm just relieved that no claims needed to be filed during the time that has passed. It might have caused some trouble, what with insurance companies being only too happy not to pay the claims of their clients if there is even the remote possibility of denying the service for which one has paid dearly.
Admittedly, it is a good insurance agency. I remember clearly when many years back a particular event could have cost us a fortune, if for no other reason than that our agent had forgotten to file a form for us, just days before THE ACCIDENT happened.
I remember being in the house, back then. It was a quiet afternoon and we were still in the midst of building our original kitchen.
It must have been around '97 or '98, I think. Some TV show was on and we were taking a much deserved break from building, when suddenly a visiting friend of ours came running in, looking somewhat frazzled and pale, exclaiming that big brother had sawed off his hand while working with the table saw. She was babbling something about blood all over, and bone being exposed, setting the panic mood in full swing.
Shocked at this bit of news, I jumped to my feet (bare feet, of course), glancing around wildly, and grabbed the first piece of cloth I encountered, just in case some artery was spouting.
Taking little heed of rocks, dirt and gravel, I hurried up to where the car was parked... we still had the yellow Renault Twingo back then... zooming in on big brother who was leaning heavily against the side of the car while his mouth leaked blood all over his chin.
Somehow he had remembered that when severing some appendage of the body, the safest place to keep it was in his mouth. I could hardly imagine being able to do the same if I'd been in his place, but still I marveled at his clear thinking- even then.
So there he stood, his left hand, thankfully still attached, while, pale-faced, he managed to mutter something about having sawed off his fingers. Since I couldn't recall at that particular moment whether or not one can bleed to death from severed fingers, I decided to play it safe and wrapped the cloth I carried with me tightly around his arm, as we bustled into the car and tore off towards the nearest emergency station.
We make it to the village in record time; however, when we drive down Main Street, our driver (a friend who has always been known to be a disaster in emergency situations) manages to get stuck behind a procession of mules and carts- which are a tourist attraction around here.
While mom and I growled at him to honk his horn repeatedly -rather than just once- and just push past the tired looking donkeys, it wasn't until the Spaniard leading the procession saw big brother slouching in the front seat with blood running down his chin and onto his white tank top that we finally managed to get through and head for the medical facility.
Several expletives were exchanged when we reached the tiny niche in which it was located. Cerrado -closed- the small board on the door proclaimed, tiny little digits below it showing an emergency phone number for which we had to find a phone booth first.
Thinking back of it now, I wonder how we ever got around without mobile phones, but since back then they were still only luxuries that one didn't even think about when funds were always tight, it was only to be expected.
Luckily the attending doctor was just around the corner for lunch, and came hurrying towards us ten minutes later, unlocking the door and leading us to the examination room in the back.
While big brother wearily sat down on the table, and was urged to remove his hand from his mouth, mom and I watched worriedly as the man started his examination.
The thumb was tattered; big chunks of skin and bone missing and the tip dangling from little more than half an inch of skin when it was finally revealed. I winced at the sight, quietly keeping my hand on big brother's shoulder as the doctor frowned and fussed, stating that the damage was severe. Disinfectants flowed liberally, with big brother going through it stoically, much to my amazement.
Next came his index finger, of which the top of the middle joint had been cut open, revealing bone within the jagged gap, while the upper half limply fell down- immediately after the doc released it. The tendon had been severed, leaving it eerily lifeless.
Big brother asked to lie back for a minute by then, making some sort of dry joke about feeling "just a tad faint" and admittedly I would have liked to do the same, since by then the adrenaline rush had abated somewhat, leaving me feeling faint myself.
While the doc wrapped up both fingers and a relatively small cut on big brother's middle finger -it, too, had been nicked- he informed us that an operation would be necessary. He proceeded to give us directions to the major hospital, about thirty miles from where we lived, and wished us good luck, after stating that it was unlikely that the damage could be fully repaired.
It hit us while we were driving down the mountain: The insurance! Would it cover this?
So... what with big brother now bandaged up and reasonably okay for the time being, we headed straight for the insurance company.
Explaining what had happened, and how the agent had made an error, we were assured that the hospital costs would be covered and headed towards the large facility.
A surgery was pretty much a fact after just half an hour after arrival, and big brother was carted off towards the operating room less than three hours after the incident.
What with our driver friend returning home to inform the rest of the family of the events, and to get shoes and decent (non-working) clothes for me and mom, we sat outside the hospital for several hours, until night fell. The waiting area was boring, as they all tend to be, but comfortable enough for the many hours that passed.
It wasn't until two in the morning when big brother was treated and surgically done. The doctors had worked diligently on both fingers, managing, somehow, to repair the damage to the index, and reconstruct the majority of his thumb, before the entire appendage was wrapped up and he was settled into a room.
The entire thing earned big brother three days in the hospital, during which he was pumped full of antibiotics and blood thinners, while the staff checked his repaired fingers two times a day to make sure that the skin wouldn't die.
Relief settled in by that time, and while I kept big brother company -he dozed off and on for the duration of his stay- life slowly got back on track. He'd survived what could have been far more serious than it already was, and in the end he still had all five fingers on his left hand: A definite plus, in our eyes.
Though the doctors warned him that the joint of his thumb was literally ruined beyond repair, and that it was practically impossible that it would ever function fully again -if at all- two trips back to the hospital for rehabilitation gave big brother the right idea. By just moving the joint time and again until a new one formed, flexibility finally returned.
By now, many years after the unfortunate encounter with a spinning saw blade, about 95 percent of the dexterity in the damaged digits returned, leaving only faint scars to remind big brother and us of that rather eventful day.
The insurance company paid for the operation and the treatments that followed, and all was well in the end.
It's strange how such long memories slip through my mind in just seconds when something seemingly innocuous reminds me of it- like it does today. It are memories such as this one that make thinking back of life in general interesting, however. They can be downright horrible when they occur, but when looking back it's just like thinking about a book I read at some time in the past. Funny how that works.
But anyways, enough maudling, hah. Back to the day.
After our trip to the insurance agent, big brother and I are dropped off at school for another two hours of "fun" behind the test computers. It goes well enough, though I feel unsettled for some peculiar reason.
6 thirty question tests with an average of 0-3 mistakes each, will allow me to pass when the time comes, so at least it isn't a complete waste of time to break up a day and head for school.
The lessons done, and mom's, grandpa's and little brother's return, announces the final part of the day's outing. Grocery shopping! A trip to the large international market passes quickly but with some effort on our part, for sure. Two full shopping carts need to be filled, unloaded, loaded again and then packaged for transportation in the truck bed.
Though more stores had been in the plans for today's trip, we decide to postpone other matters to another day and head on home after filling up the car's depleted tank with diesel.
Prices have gone down, I'm relieved to see. The Euro dial stays below the liter dial for the first time in months, and by the time the tank filled, and the fuel paid for, we're on our way home to start the next part of the shopping day ritual: Unpacking! We do have the routine down pat- each of us playing an agile game of "dodge-the-dogs" as bag after bag is carried inside and a joint effort is made to put everything in its place.
My personal pack is ecstatic with my return, making me squeal and growl dire threats every time they jump up against me, almost making me drop the heavy bags I'm carrying. I place safely on the kitchen counter a mere second before Knight II comes pounding straight at me. I just barely manage to keep my balance, as I desperately grab for the dangling chain around his neck and yank him down. I swear that, if I don't teach him the proper protocol of "No-jumping-against-me", he'll crack some of my ribs or throw me face down on the floor some day. Hah.
Mosha is bouncing up and down beside me, her teeth nipping at my clothes and wrist- which, for some reason, she likes to grab whenever I've been away from her for as little as five minutes.
Chaos, throws his considerable weight against me when he balances precariously on his hindquarters, while Lhabana, Gadah and the others circle around like mad. I can almost hear them screech delightedly "Your home! Your home."
Looking at them one would think I'd been away for a full month, rather than just a few hours, but it's okay. I always feel honored that they care so much for my company, so I take the discomfort these particular greetings give, in stride.
At long last things quiet down, and feeling exhausted I manage little more than prepare baked veggies and cheese to put on roasted pita bread with iceberg slaw and tomatoes for myself, big brother and mom, instead of a real dinner.
It fills the gaps well enough, and by the time my stomach is full I do little more than flop down in a chair and wearily wait for the evening to come to an end.
Grocery days; they're exhausting!
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