My Green Thumbs

This is one of those stories from the early days of Angora, that I wonder why I even told it.

Oh, I know…… really happened.

I could be a little foggy on how much help I had when I went to the restroom.

Looking down in the comments section , I have had a lot of THUMB debacles in my lifetime.

When we were kids, well teenagers, Cec had Kenny and me building a new shop building out from the house in Smithwick. It was a pipe frame, a simple structure. The cross bracing was used sucker rod (the steel rods lengths that were used with windmills to connect the wind-motor to the bottom pump) It was a misty rainy day. Kenny, using the skills he had learned in Ag Class was doing the welding. My job was to hold the long lengths of sucker rod. With it being wet, when he would strike an arc I would feel the current flow through my body. In normal fashion Kenny would lash out at me if I didn’t hold the piece steady. I didn’t exactly enjoy the jolt I was getting each time he started welding but I endured. I finally figured out that if I’d put the bar in place then press hard on it with my thumbs I would only feel the shock right at the point of contact. After a few hours we were finished with that phase of the job.

About two days later, I woke up that morning and both of my thumbs were swollen to nearly 4 times there normal size.

They had turned a greenish color. Both of them.

Cec said that the electricity had probably caused the bones to get infected. Sounded like a good diagnoses. Wasn’t like I could come up with any better explanation. It was very unusual.

I tried to go on like nothing was wrong, but soon figured out if both your thumbs are almost as big as your hand it was hard to do anything. I tried to get Kenny help me zip my pants. He wasn’t having any of it.

My mother helped me.

When I got to the car, opening the door was another challenge. Driving was another problem. Opening the car door when I got to school was trying.

My handwriting was even worse than normal, with me holding my pen like a 3 year old.

Walking up and down the hallways looking for someone to accompany me to the restroom was kind of awkward.

Finally Tommy Houy came to the rescue. He became my potty mate for the next few days. What are friends for?

It never occurred to any of us that I may need to go to the doctor.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s