A significant day

For the sake of posterity and clarity I want to record this.


On February 1st 2012 at 1430 my life changed forever. I was cutting some vinyl with a scalpel when I somehow managed to stab the inside point of the joint on my second finger of my left hand. It didn’t particularly hurt, and it bled a bit. I cleaned the wound and dressed it and didn’t think too much more about it. I went home, took the dressing off and had a normal evening. The finger didn’t bother me unduly and I went to bed as normal.

In the morning it didn’t appear to be too different so I showered, dressed and went to work. About 1000 I realised that the finger was starting to swell up and become a bit uncomfortable. Thinking ahead I drove to the local Tesco to get some Ibuprofen in case it got worse during the day. While at the store I showed my finger to the pharmacist and she suggested that I put a cold compress on it and if it hadn’t improved in a couple of days go to the doctors. Somehow that didn’t sit right as it was now uncomfortable to bend the finger at the joint that had been stabbed. So I made the decision that ultimately probably saved my life. As the Andover hospital was pretty close to my route back to the office I decided to drop in there and get someone to have a quick look and put my mind at ease. While walking from the car to the hospital I had a chocolate bar.

The hospital in Andover is quite small and the nurse there was helpful, and mainly concerned that I couldn’t bend my finger flat. By this time (about 1100) it had swollen some more and was going a bit red. The nurse referred me to Salisbury Hospital as they had a specialist unit there that dealt with hand/joint injuries. So I drove to Salisbury General Hospital and waited in the reception area for about an hour or so. I went to the triage nurse who gave me some Paracetemol and Ibuprofen as my hand was now quite uncomfortable. It was now about 1245. By this stage my finger could not be straightened and it was tingly and was quite an angry red around the wound area, which incidentally you could now hardly see.

The triage nurse sent me back to reception and I waited for a doctor to see me. At about 1330 a doctor evaluated me and started talking about an infection. She kept saying that I had all of the symptoms of an infection, but they never set in to an injury like this for at least 48 hours. I went for an x-ray to check there were no foreign objects in the wound (there were none that could be seen). A consultant came to see me and they said they had to admit me to the hospital immediately and start preparing me for surgery. They couldn’t be certain, but they thought I had developed an infection from the cut, probably damaged/severed the tendon and the nerve, and that I could be in hospital for some time as this was serious. If I had done some proper damage I could be in plaster for up to 3 months and I might need several operations. I was slightly surprised, but also quite calm about it. I guess I had suspected a bigger problem at Tesco that morning and this was just confirming it. One of my first thoughts was that I had only put a ticket in the car for an hour and was in the short term car park. I needed to sort that out while I could still move and use my hand. My next thought was that I didn’t particularly want to be admitted to Salisbury as it was a long way from my family and my home.

I asked to be admitted to QAH in Portsmouth instead and after a bit of going back and forwards and initially refusing they agreed. My thinking was that at least I would be near home. So I got back in my car and drove home. When I left Salisbury my whole finger was red down to the base of the finger. It was uncomfortable to touch it and I couldn’t bend it. The drive got more interesting as it progressed and I was struggling with changing the gears towards the end. By the time I got to the house I had driven 140 miles that day. I went in, called a taxi to take me to the hospital and quickly packed an overnight back and changed into jeans and a t-shirt. The taxi came and I kissed everyone goodbye. I was smiling and playing things down, but a part of me was wondering if I would see them again. I got the taxi to the hospital and arrived at the A&E there at 1745. On arrival my hand had a red line all across the palm to my wrist running from the base of the finger.

Although I had been told the hospital had all of my details and were expecting me there was no bed in a ward available so I was taken through to A&E after a while (about 1830). I saw a surgeon quite quickly who explained that he would need to cut down my finger and hand to clean out the infection. Once that was done they would then look at the tendon and nerve to see what damage had been done and if it could be repaired. He said I basically had septicaemia and it was attacking me aggressively. If the operation wasn’t successful I may lose my hand, or arm, or life. Suddenly this wasn’t a small issue now. He gave me some more painkillers and they put a drip pipe in my good arm. He told me to keep my hand in the air as much as possible and to sit tight. As soon as a bed in a ward became available they would take me there and prep me for surgery. This would fall into the plastic surgery category. They never do emergency operations in that department, but in my case the two consultants would stay on to operate as it was very serious. One of them said this was only the second case this serious he had seen in his career. I was put on a bed in A&E and then pretty much ignored for the next 2 hours while they waited for a bed to become available. I was lying under an open window in a cold draught unable to use my arms to get up and close it. I was pretty cold and feeling slightly spaced out as well. I had not eaten since the chocolate bar that morning and had hardly drunk anything all day. In a strange twist this was good as you’re not supposed to eat or drink for a few hours before surgery. I spoke to Theresa a few times during this time and was making light of the situation. I didn’t tell her what the surgeon had told me as I didn’t think there was anything to gain from her worrying unduly. And I might need all of her strength in the coming days.

At about 2100 a nurse came to get me and said there was a bed now available, but no porter was around at that time to take me to the bed so it would be a few minutes more. Conscious that I was technically potentially getting closer to losing my life with each passing minute I suggested we just walk to the bed if she could carry my bag. She warned me it was a few minutes away, but we went for it anyway. I came alive again as we walked to the ward and was a bit surprised that you can find new strength when you need to. In the ward I changed into robes at the same time as answering questions for another form. As I lay in the bed the surgeons came in and ran through the procedure again and an anaesthetist started me on a drip to knock me out. I was taken to the surgery and don’t remember much else from that point. I think the drugs must have started to work immediately on my dehydrated body as I don’t remember getting to the operating theatre.

I came round feeling like I was sinking and completely disorientated. I have woken from surgery before and been fine, but this time it was horrible. I felt completely disorientated and had a slight panic attack. I later found out from my chart that I’d been given Morphine and I blame that for how I felt. The staff were really good and helped me as much as possible and I remember looking at the clock as I got back to the ward and it said 0200. I’d been in surgery for probably 4 hours which was a bit scary. I was attached to a drip with both arms and I had what I discovered later was a saline solution being pumped through my finger to clean it. I hardly slept that night and felt pretty horrible when the lights came on in the morning.

When I ‘woke’ I found I was in a ward with three others who had colostomy bags attached. They all looked in far worse state than me. The surgeon came to see me in the morning and explained that this was the only bed that could be found last night and plastic surgery don’t normally keep people in overnight. Theresa arrived at that point and it was amazing to see her and Joel. I don’t remember being so relieved to see a loved one in my life. The surgeon explained that I was by far the most serious patient in the ward despite appearances and that I was not out of the woods yet. I think that was when it hit home with Theresa that this was pretty serious. The surgeon said the operation had been successful and the drip was now cleaning out the wound, and they would need to have a look when that was complete. The drip would be in for 24 hours. I may require another operation if the finger didn’t appear to be clean. I had severed the nerve and cut the tendon about 25% of the way through. If it had been any more they would have had to reattach it and I would have been in plaster for several weeks. Luck shows itself in mysterious ways sometimes! The tendon would heal itself up to a point and the nerve might partially regrow.

The kids and I the morning after - Feb 2012



I ended up staying in the hospital for four days and was discharged on the Sunday. Over those four days the drip came off and I was put on some spectacular painkillers and antibiotics. I was checked regularly and my body started to heal. Theresa came to see me each day and I would look forward to the visits eagerly. In between visits I struck up a bond with the other patients in my ward and I think we kept each others spirits up through the ordeal. We laughed a lot about the food (which unfortunately was revolting and I can’t see how it would help you heal at all – poor effort NHS!), and generally passed the time. I read a bit, but spent a lot of time dozing and doing very little while trying to give my body a chance to start healing. It was a relief really when Theresa came to collect me although tinged with a bit of sadness at leaving people I’d become friends with still lying in bed with tubes coming out of them.

I spent the next few days bouncing between being in quite a lot of pain and spaced out due to the medication. Most of the time I lay in bed watching TV or reading. I was signed off work for at least two weeks and they seemed understanding enough, although they didn’t have much choice in the matter. The second week I started to do some work from home and tried to be useful. I couldn’t do much around the house and in a weird way the enforced rest did me some good. I had the bandages changed and got my first look at my hand which looked like it had been mauled. I had no complaints as their quick actions had probably saved my life, but it continued to hit home that I was going to have to adapt my life now to allow for this injury, and I was going to have to live with it for the rest of my life.

After a couple of weeks I started physiotherapy on the hand which exposed me to another type of pain. The ‘hand feels like it’s tearing apart, but in fact won’t’ pain. The aim of the exercise was to start to straighten my finger as much as possible. I was given exercises to do and went back each week. Gradually the finger got more movement and the swelling went down. The physiotherapist was happy with the progress I was making, and I was determined to be able to straighten my finger. However as things progressed I realised that I probably wouldn’t ever be able to and also there was still some feeling in the nerve. This meant/means that whenever I touch anything with it I get an electric shock up my arm. The physiotherapy would continue weekly for three months. After a couple of weeks I went back to work and normal life resumed to a point. Everyone was very sorry for me, but soon enough I became yesterday’s news. Unfortunately for me the injury didn’t go away with the interest and I have to live with a damaged hand.

As I write this seven months later my hand is still causing me problems. The nerve is still partially alive and still gives me electric shocks when I touch anything. I am very sensitive about anything being near my left hand and it scares me to put my hand near anything that might bang or trap it. I have bashed it a few times over the weeks and it makes my head spin and me almost want to throw up through shock sometimes. I am really wary of anyone or anything touching my finger. I am scared to be around knives now and even cutting a slice of bread makes me catch my breath. I get very concerned whenever I see other people using knives, especially if they’re being a bit carefree with them. I find I compensate for my finger whenever I do anything by bending it slightly higher than the other fingers to try and shield it a bit. I am hoping that in time my brain will make allowances for my finger and filter out the pain. I believe my finger is too sensitised at the moment and my brain needs to program itself to say that things touching it won’t automatically cause me pain. I am hoping that will happen, but I’m not sure I am convinced that it will. Part of me is angry that this has happened as I will now have to live with this problem for the rest of my life. In some ways I wish that the nerve had been completely severed so I wouldn’t have the pain. I think that my hand is part of the bigger picture of my head being a bit messed up at the moment. I am grateful to the doctors for saving my life and I’m pleased that I listened to my instincts and went to the hospital on the day rather than ignoring it. I appreciate how sensitive parts of the human body are and I will never take things for granted again.