Did I Say "Living Slow?"

Yes, that's what I did say. And I have even started to read the book, *In Praise of Slow," by Carl Honoré. I wasn't expecting to have it so soon - and so quickly.

Last Saturday while watering my garden, I lost my balance and staggered forward to land forehead down on a gravel path with my right hand underneath me. The full weight of my body fell on the little finger of my right and turned it back against the back of the hand. Several hours later with the pain and swelling in my hand increasing steadily, my wife drove me to the emergency clinic at the local hospital where I waited for three hours in the triage line. An x-ray of the hand revealed a broken metacarpal bone of the small finger. Poor pinkie!

With hand enclosed in a reasonably comfortable half splint and a form requisitioning a visit to a plastic surgeon, I headed home for a few hours sleep. That is when Slow began.

As instructed, I contacted the surgeon's office on Monday morning. She was on vacation, so I was referred to another doctor who was also on vacation. My next referral was to either of two doctor's in the next city - one to the east and one to the west. I chose to go west and was given an appointment for Thursday at 10:15 am. I was instructed to get my x-rays from the local hospital before reported for my appoitment. That meant another trip to the hospital to puck them up on Wednesday.

Thursday morning sharp at 10:15, my wife delivered me to the doctor's office situated in a building recently constructed in a farm field once owned by an elder of the church I used to serve as minister. I waited in a crowded waiting room for six or eight other patients to be called in before me. Finally about 11 am, I was called. Ten minutes later I was out again and on my way home with instructions to report to a hand clinic at the hospital in Burlington.

Saturday, August 13.

I forget now what interrupted me and made me place this is draft form. I am not sure how much better I shall fare today.

I never did get to the Joseph Brant Hospital in Burlington. The day after I saw the doctor at his office - Friday, 8.5 - I received a call from the Oakville Hospital that they had received my requisition by fax from the Joseph Brant. I was given an appointment for the same afternoon. In about a half hour I was fitted with a plastic splint bound by four strips of quick fastening straps of velcro. Inside the splint is a stocking of polyester fibre extending from palm to beyond the splint. It has worked fine except that it is quite hot and precipitates some perspiration. A few holes drilled in the fold of the splint does improve the circulation to some extent and a little corn starch also helps keep the splint dry inside. My grandson Malcolm made that improvement on Monday last.

Today is the beginning of the third of six weeks I shall have to wear this contraption. The main inabilities the splint causes are related to driving, writing, typing and eating. Gardening is completely out of the question as is most other work requirin the use of both hands. So I have a few more slow weeks to look forward to. Everywhere I go I am aked to explain how it all happened. So conducting worship at Glen Abbey United Church and attending the Probus meeting on Thursday were my main outings.