-The most ingenious home-remedy you’ve ever
practiced because you are pursuing a dream and don’t (or didn’t) currently have
health insurance…
-The cleverest repair job you ever performed to a
beloved bag or article of clothing because you just couldn’t afford to part with
it on your dream-pursuer’s budget…
-The strangest thing you ever ate when the
cupboards were all but bare…
-The most ambiguous or hilarious explanation you
ever gave to a friend or loved one who questioned you on just what the heck you
were doing with your life as you set out on – or slogged painstakingly along –
the path towards a dream.
I’ll compile the results into a likely hilarious,
and possibly instructive, future post.
And for now, I’ll share a favorite story of one
of my own adventures in health-care-in-the-absence-of-health-insurance. Joey and
Mere, if you’re reading this, I know you’ll smile along in
solidarity…
Last spring, I had an art show. I worked right up
until the last minute on a new set of sculptures and drawings, and laid all the
work out the night before the opening to hang it. My studio mate and stellar
figurative sculptor Mere Gehres was present to help, and my brother was on the
way. As I laid one sculpture on the floor beneath its soon-to-be spot on the
wall, a 3-pointed fish hook (one of about 7, in fact, dangling from the
sculpture) effortlessly embedded itself into my right pointer finger. I didn’t
even feel it go in! Those Norwegians sure know how to make an efficient
hook…
I could not detach myself from the sculpture to
perform other installation tasks, and the hook, while small, was embedded to
such a depth that it seemed possible that nerve damage could be caused by a
swift, uncalculated removal (read, yanking) of the hook from my finger. I
asked Mere to grab a pair of wire cutters, and we snipped off the stem of the
hook, freeing me from the sculpture as a whole, so that only the embedded end of
the hook remained on (in) my person. At just this moment, as if on cue, my
brother Joey arrived. Faced with the dilemma, he resolved to do whatever was
necessary to aid in the hook’s removal.
Mere, Joey, and I held a summit in the glaze room
of the studio, where the stainless steel tables gave us the comforting illusion
of being in a doctor’s office. After some fevered Googling on our respective
smartphones (thank you, 21st C!), Joey determined that the safest, soundest strategy (to prevent potential
nerve damage) was to cut deep into my skin with a pair of cuticle cutters until
the hook was accessed, and then to gingerly remove the hook through this
opening. While Joey happened to have brought along a bottle of rum, we lacked
cuticle cutters or the necessary antiseptic for the task…As a lass without
health insurance, the cost of a trip to the emergency room inspired more terror
than even the goriest imaginable outcome from the surgery about to take place. I
placed myself willingly in my brother’s confident, if untrained, hands.
Exhilarated by such a survivalist-worthy challenge, Joey ran out to the nearest drug store, purchased a massive first aid kit, and returned ready to cut. A judicious (under the circumstances) quantity of rum was imbibed, some was even shed on my finger (for good luck, or whatever…), and Joey set to
hacking, while Mere distracted me with conversation and…more rum. I recall
turning my head away from Joey and from the surgery unfolding to my right,
looking straight into Mere’s eyes, and talking with her incessantly about every
immediately available topic. I remember us laughing – a lot – so much so, in
fact, that Joey had to remind me to hold still.
Thank God for Mere and Joey. As an artist, my
fingers are my prized possessions. I read the world, and my sculpting materials,
through my fingers. The thought of any nerve loss at my fingertip – one of the
two most nerve-ending-rich sites in the human body – agonized me. While Joey’s
ad-hoc surgery might leave a mean scar, I rationalized, his crude method would
enable him to spot any nerves in the path of the hook, and remove the hook
delicately while leaving the nerves in-tact. Now, do I know what a nerve looks
like in a real, living, human finger? Would I, or Joey, recognize one if it bit
us?...Maybe not. But our strategy seemed sound in the moment – it felt like the
closest thing to real surgery an artist on a budget could afford. And, with only
spray-on Lidocaine and Captain Morgan to numb the pain, Mere’s services as an agent of clinical
distraction turned what could have been a hellish experience, into a rather fun and loopy
one.
The rum worked its magic and I felt very little
(though I found the squishy clipping sounds momentarily traumatizing). Within 30
minutes or so, I was all bandaged up, hook free, and able to hang the many
sculptures and drawings awaiting me on the gallery floor – with the
indispensable help of Mere and Joey, of course. To my surprise, the incision
healed within a week, and my finger remains every bit as sensitive as it once
was. Given that the offending hook was gleaned from my late and dear Grandpa
Elliott’s collection of fishing affects, and given the wry smile and tough
character he so often displayed, I couldn’t help but sense his presence there in
our “operating [glaze] room” that evening. I pictured him laughing at our
overblown fear of nerve damage and marveling
(he was not one to readily marvel, mind you) at Joey’s ingenuity in
the face of what would send many squeaming to the nearest hospital.
Daring adventurers need good friends and
relatives. Mine saved me upwards of $1000 dollars in emergency room expenses
that night, helped me hang my art show, and left me with a story I treasure, to
boot. May you, too, my fellow adventurers, have good friends and relatives (and
rum and Lidocaine, perhaps) nearby in times of need.