I Believe in Following Your Instincts
I believe in following your instincts. In any emergency they’re the only rational thoughts you have. They kick in when you’re scared or panicked. They’re probably the most reliable things you’ve got.
It was August 9th, 2006. It was a normal day. My mom was getting ready to go grocery shopping and I was helping my dad convert our garage into a party room to house our many musical instruments. We were finishing up the bar. Measuring, cutting, and drilling.
“Bye,” my mom called.
“Bye,” we mirrored. The door closed and we continued our work.
A few minutes later we were cutting boards for the wall. And then it happened. A “POP!”, and then the Skillsaw came down on my dad’s hand. He ran down the hall, and frantic, I followed. Suddenly, while my dad was reaching for a cloth to stop the blood, my instincts took control. I ran to the kitchen and filled a bag with ice. I then called my mom’s cell phone and told her what had happened.
“Mom, dad cut his finger!”
“Off!” my dad corrected in an expected tone.
“Cut his finger off,” I said half heartedly.
“Off! Oh my god. I’m coming home.”
When he had settled down I got a roll of paper towels and some disinfectant wipes and began to clean up the blood. When my mom got home, my dad and I piled in the car and she rushed us to the hospital E.R. After we’d been there a while they took my dad into surgery. After a few more hours the doctor emerged and told us they couldn’t reattach the half of his finger and instead had to amputate it. One thought crossed my mind and that was: Oh no, it got his left hand. His fret hand.
If I had panicked when it happened, the whole thing would have been ten times as bad. But thanks to those basic instincts, I knew what was needed. As far as recovery, my dad’s been getting used to the lack of an index finger and even picking up a guitar now and then.
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