In the summer and on Saturdays, my brother and I usually went with Mom when she ran the milk route for Dad.
It wasn’t unusual for them to stop for a little while to chat with the people they had become friends with, although they couldn’t stay long because the milk trucks in those days were not refrigerated.
One afternoon, Mom stopped to visit with a farmer and his wife. She went inside the house, but Monty and I stayed outdoors.
It was a beautiful day—warm, with blue skies and plenty of sunshine. We decided to sit in the folding lawn chairs under a shade tree.
I don’t remember what we were talking about, but Monty sat in his chair with his long legs touching the ground. My legs were much shorter, so I sat on the edge of the chair, swinging my feet.
That’s when disaster struck.
My position on the chair and the motion of swinging my feet caused it to fold up—catching my ring finger on my right hand between two pieces of metal. My weight pressed down hard on my smashed finger.
I started screaming at the top of my lungs.
Monty ran to get Mom, but he didn’t make it as far as the house before all three adults came tearing out and rushed to my side.
The farmer tried to unfold the chair, but he couldn’t. He grabbed some tools to take it apart, but he became frantic—probably because I was still screaming.
He partially took the chair apart… and partially ripped it apart.
I heard Mom say something about not ruining his chair, and he said he didn’t care. There were some curse words in there too, but I don’t remember what they were.
The only choice was to take me to the hospital.
Since Mom’s only transportation was the milk truck, the farmer bundled us into his car after his wife gave Mom a white cotton dish towel to wrap around my finger.
The only access to the highway to Hammond-Henry Hospital in Kewanee was a narrow gravel road with long, steep hills.
The farmer was in a hurry, so he drove as fast as he safely could.
I had stopped screaming once my finger was released from the chair, but now I was sobbing.
I sobbed all the way up the first hill…
…and laughed all the way down it.
The sudden drop always made me laugh.
As soon as we started up the next hill, I cried again—then laughed all the way down.
I think there were three hills in all, and it happened every time.
When we finally ran out of hills, I cried all the way to the hospital.
Fortunately, my finger wasn’t broken. The doctor bandaged it and sent me home.
After taking us back, Mom finished the milk route, although I don’t remember the rest of it.
It didn’t take long for me to realize that if I let my arm drop to my side, my finger started to throb—so I held it close to my chest for the rest of the afternoon.
When we got home, Mom made a sling for me out of a dish towel.
I was pretty proud of that sling.
To this day, that same finger is still slightly smaller than the ring finger on my left hand. It’s less noticeable now, and I doubt anyone else would see it…
…but I do.
Because I know what caused it.
Through My Eyes, Gently 