So my last post was on my birthday, and I wrote about gifts and sharing good things and all sorts of warm, fuzzy stuff.
Yeah – here’s what happened after I posted that:
We went to a swimming hole – my favorite thing to do in Oregon in the summertime. It was the Umpqua River. There was a rope swing. There were people swinging on it. There was my son, totally gung-ho to swing on it himself. And yet, he wouldn’t do it until I did it.
The rope swung out over deep water, but first, one had to swing over about 15 feet of rocky, hard riverbank to get there. It was a long way to hold on. There were people. Witnesses. I was afraid.
“C’mon, Dad, do it! You know you want to!” I was being peer-pressured by my own 12-year-old kid.
I briefly wondered what was the point of allowing my son a moment of empowerment by swinging off the rope if it meant he had to watch his father fall to his death first. But, aware that others were waiting their turn, I did it.
I stepped off, swung out over the water, and when I couldn’t hold on any longer, I dropped, hoping I was out far enough. When I surfaced, I wasn’t immediately aware of the pain in my hand. I was just grateful to have survived. Even when I saw the blood pouring from a gash in my left index finger, I didn’t really feel it, for a sense of disorientation came over me. I was bleeding, yet it wasn’t that finger that hurt. No — even though my index finger was gushing blood, it was my middle finger that was screaming at me. I looked at it and thought, “is the tip of that finger supposed to be pointing to the right at an angle like that?” My middle finger was swelling up rapidly and it hurt like hell. A sprain, I assumed.
Later on, when I was unable to bend the finger despite a couple hours in the ice pack, I wrapped it and assumed it would get better in time.
It’s one week later now, and while the bruising got worse and then faded, I still can’t bend the finger, and it still hurts whenever I bang it against something. I am thinking it’s more than a sprain, and thus worthy of a doctor visit. I’ll make an appointment today.
Still — if I were to find something good to share in this experience, it’s that my son got to carry out his wish and conquer the rope swing. Only he did it injury-free.
It hurts like hell to type E’s, D’s, an C’s, so I’m signing off now.