He lay down when they pulled the pins out from him.
I didn’t see it, really, my eyes closed. His face was hiding in the crook of his elbow; in case there were tears, they were to be his alone, unshared.
And the surgeon tried to distract with questions about the farm and the last days of summer and what he knew of pigs, while the nurse held open the bag, the repository for those stainless steel nails.
It was over in less than a minute.
Just a bit more time than it took for the heavy fan blades to crack the bone of his index finger, rotating it upside down. Just a blink of time in these six weeks of summer for a seven-year-old boy with splinted hand, protruding wires, and long, hot days of no swimming, biking, or trampoline flying. And now it’s, almost, all done. Or, in some ways, just beginning.
“Can you show us how much you can move it, Levi?” Dr. Yasdani helps Levi sit up.
Levi’s glances over at me, I nod, and his freckled brow works tight, lined with determination, eyes focused on bent finger. Every eye in the room’s fixed on that surgery-scarred digit.
And not much happens. Except Levi’s cheeks blustering red from the effort.
“Well, I think we’ve got a bit of mobility there. Exercise everyday and in a few weeks, I’m hopeful you’ll be able to curve that finger right down into a fist, Levi.” Dr. Yasdani smiles broadly, lays his surgeon hands on Levi’s shoulder.
Involuntarily, my eyebrows arch, skeptical, unsure, and the occupational therapist must have noticed for she steps close and assures, “I know it doesn’t look like much but considering how serious this fracture was and the fact he’s just had his pins removed, he’s moving it more than you or I could. We can work with this.” I nod, smile with relief, hope.
“Buddy tape index to middle and show them the exercises,” Dr. Yasdani quietly directs the therapist before stepping out of the cubicle room, its sole wood-frame window propped open with a bottle of sterile water.
“Buddy taping it is.” The therapist happily turns to Levi. The room’s cool with early morning breezes.
“You’ll want to see how this is done, Mom,” she encourages, peeling off a section of tape. A resident measures the slight angle of current mobility in Levi’s finger, jots numbers down on the forms on his clipboard.
“What we’ve got is a knot of scar tissue, from the original break, and then the surgery, that Levi needs to slowly stretch through.”
The therapist’s talking now as she carefully spreads out Levi’s fingers and I lean in, watching her wrap tape ribbons around the swollen index finger to middle. “We don’t want it too tight, just snug, and right above this seam here.” She traces a line on Levi’s finger, then pats down the tape, fastening.
And I see.
“So, because they are attached, when the middle finger moves, it’s teaching that stiff index finger how to bend also? Like a gentle way of training?”
“Exactly.” She’s taping now under the next joint.
“Just like mentoring… or parenting… or any close attachment.” I marvel under my breath.
When we’re attached to someone, we become like him, her. We take on their mannerisms, their reactions, their opinions. We shadow them, moving through time and space as they do. Whoever we are attached to, spend time with, whoever our children are attached to, spend time with, so goes the becoming. If we are closely aligned to mature, thoughtful Christ-followers, so we too grow this direction. If our children are attached to peers, so too they think, talk, act in kind.
“If we didn’t buddy tape that index to the middle finger, it would be very easy for other fingers all to bend, and do the necessary work of writing, holding a utensil, grabbing something, while the index finger stays rigid.” The therapist demonstrates by picking up a pencil on her desk using her thumb and middle finger, the index finger still pointing obstinately upward.
She tears off the final strip of tape.
Close attachment causes shared experiences and emulating responses.
I watch Levi practice a series of exercises with the therapist, his middle finger gently urging the injured finger along, and I’m thinking about life and people and relationships. About questions I need to answer:
- To whom am I personally attached?
- Is that relationship nurturing, growing me in the best direction?
- To whom are my children closely attached and is that attachment in their best interest?
- How much do I want them to model my ways?
- How might I strengthen the attachment of our relationships? And personally be a better model?
“Hey!” Levi holds up his taped fingers and lights the room with this toothy grin. “One buddy’s helping the other buddy!”
His fingers wiggle a bit and I look into those twinkling eyes and laugh too, happy right through.
I pull his slender frame near, feel his happiness touch mine, and whisper, “Way to go, buddy.”
He finds my hand, laces fingers through, squeezes.
We’ll stay close.
Lord, You stay close, asking me to walk just as You do, to imitate Christ, to move as the Spirit moves. I’m staying close to You, attached. And, please Lord, cause me to buddy well. What could I do today to strengthen the closeness of the attachment with my spouse, my children, my community?
Photos: Buddying… buddying fingers, Levi and brothers working closely with Farmer Hsuband to pour a cement pad at end of the barn, at the end of a long day, his girls sleep close…
