Med-Ex

Ding dong – our friendly doorbell sounded on a sunny autumn day. Normally we ignore such things, as anyone scheduled to visit would knock and enter. However, I was expecting a package so halted my kitchen task for a moment and ventured down the hallway. Before even arriving at the door I could see the familiar colors of the FedEx panel van out in the street – YES!

If I catch the delivery person still within earshot, I thank them. I opened up expecting a rectangular box or hazmat-nylon bag on the stoop – zip. But the fully uniformed FedEx man was still facing the door and now me. He held out both hands, one gripping the other palm to backhand.

I thought he was joking as he asked, “Would you help me please?”

I looked again… there was substantial blood all over his three lead fingers of his left hand – and palm. I quickly evaluated this dude now three feet from me. Latino, neck tatts, short hair, clean shaven, and not much more than 21 years old. The FULL CLEAN FedEx uniform clinched it. He was in obvious pain.

“This thing really hurts,” he added.

I stepped aside the open door, “Come on in, let’s check that thing out.”

“Thank you, thank you,” he humbly spoke.

“To the kitchen sink,” as I pointed with my extended arm. Wifey appeared and assessed the magnitude of the situation immediately.

He turned short, into the powder room and Wifey’s designer seasonal towels. I gently put my hands on each shoulder (there was muscle), and halted him with “Nope, not there, the kitchen”, and he accepted my directing light pull-push.

“Oh, sorry, okay.”

“No problem, I’ll penalize you later.”

I guided him over to the sink as Wifey dug out the first-aid supplies. I first let him run his hand under the cool tap water. He was hesitant and shaky. I grabbed hold of his hand.

“Let me take a look,” then “this may hurt a bit,” as I forced his finger under the water to clear all the blood. He tried to pull back, but me being me, held firm. He grimaced and yelped – I yielded to look. “Ah yeah, that is deep,” the messy laceration was all the way across the palmar aspect of the index finger DIP, “hmmm, that may be some fatty tissue or a piece of your [flexor] tendon.”

“Are you a doctor?”

“No, but I have some experience with mangled fingers, bones and other stuff.”

He glanced up from his scrunched shoulders to look at my face directly. I smiled casually. Wifey started to tell stories in the background. I had had surgery twice on a destroyed finger (shredded A2 & A4 pulleys from martial arts), a burst thumb (log splitter), and a crushed middle finger (concrete footing), and most recently a tendon-exposing gash to my tibia (box jumps while exhausted).

“I feel dizzy.”

I’ll admit that I wasn’t all that sympathetic, but everyone tolerates pain differently (or not at all), so I adjusted my attitude. Wifey pulled a stool around and he dropped onto it. “Would you like some water?” she asked.

“Yes, please,” and he drank the 12oz offered by Wifey straightaway.

“Dude, come on [remember he’s FedEx], utility knife, or a box edge?” My employer makes cardboard and there are often some very deep cuts on-the-job. He was now shaking.

“No, no… I was, and then, no knife, I was…”

“Okay,” still holding his hand, “this is an on-the-job injury, it’s covered by your insurance, nothing new.” He looked at me. “They won’t fight it.” I looked closely again, it was very deep, and shredded. The white pieces may really have been parts of his tendon. He had baby sized fingers, but this one was obviously swelling up and his thumb was huge in comparison. “We’ll finish up cleaning, wrap it generously with some gauze (Wifey had all the items lined up), then tape it completely but not tight. You should probably go to the ER or at least a clinic for the once-over. They’ll clean it again and x-ray it too. Call this in to your hub… make sure your supervisor knows how bad it is.” He settled down a bit as I dried it off and sized up some wadding. “Now, try again to tell us how this happened.” He cringed at even the slightest touch.

“I was turning from Bluejay onto Cardinal when I had to slam on the brakes. The sliding door let loose and I tried to catch it from slamming. [I’m already envisioning and cringing at the horrific grooved crush.] I couldn’t stop it and it jammed my fingers into the door frame.”

“Wow.”

Wifey consoling him; he was still in obvious pain.

“Okay, sit, take it easy. Let me go take a look.”

Neighbors probably wondering why his truck is still running and still parked in front of our house. I check out the rig. I could see that he had been a bit panicked as the blood was spattered around and he had broken his own first-aid kit while trying to one-hand it.

I came back in, chuckling a bit at the strangeness of the event. When I came back to the kitchen he was standing once again. Wifey was telling him that most people don’t open their doors anymore. “I know,” he says to her, “strange times”. Indeed.

“Hey, you can stay and rest if you like,” I said, rejoining.

“No, thank you so much.”

We all joked a bit more, and he thanked us about a million times. He assured us that he would call his boss and get it checked out.

“If your boss gives you any heat, let me speak to him.”

“Okay, I will.”

He thanked us again as we closed the door to the sun.

As we looked out the window, we could see him speaking on his phone. He did not leave immediately.

“What’s he doing? I can’t believe it… he’s cleaning the truck.”

I went outside to see what’s up.

“Dude, they’ll clean it, you don’t have to. FedEx will be HAPPY that you’re okay… they have a crew for that stuff.”

“FedEx OWNS the vehicle, but I am a subcontracted employee of this place,” as he shows me his company name patch, “it’s posted on the side of the truck too.”

“What did your boss say?”

“We’re cool. I’ll drive back to the hub, he’ll finish my route, and then I’ll get over to the clinic.”

“Good. It’s important if you have tendon or nerve damage. Have a good remainder to your day.”

“Thanks,” looking right at me, “you know I’ll run in to you some day and we’ll laugh about this.”

“It would be funny… see ya.”

“Adiós.”