On a little finger

The little fingers…
The loveliest and cutest among your ten fingers…
How much do you care for them?

You put your thumbs up to cheer a friend. Your pointing finger, as the name shows, helps you point at something. These two along with the middle finger help you write. The fourth one is your ring finger (precious indeed) which along with the previous ones helps you do a variety of tasks.
But what is the little finger good for? Haven’t you ever thought that it is some unnecessary organ like the Appendix, which doesn’t make any difference even if cut off?
Hence, you have never given much of a consideration for your cute little fingers. Moreover you associated it with silliness at times.
“Oh I just need to move my little finger for that”, you say when you are assigned a difficult task and want to express how easy it is for you.
But believe me, moving your little finger is not a silly task as it may seem to be. Those two cute fingers are capable of stealing your sleep off you.

My encounter with the little fingers started with a feeble, unrecognizable pain at the joints while moving them. I never took it seriously as it didn’t affect my day to day activities. One fine morning my right little finger developed an unbearable pain. My experiment with a pain killer cum anti inflammatory tablet failed and the pain stopped me from writing or typing any more (means for daily bread!).
My medical interne room mate stretched her helping hands by providing some self prescribed medicines in the evening (she rarely gets a good specimen to experiment!!), regardless of which the pain intensified during the night, smartly snatching my sleep away from me.
My roommate, awakened by my cries in the morning was alarmed at the sight of my swollen hand passed a comment that it might be rheumatoid arthritis and referred me to her professor in the medical college!!!
I never wanted to meet a doctor. My room mate said that one need to test the blood from the joint in case of the above mentioned problem (still scared of the needle, isn’t it better not to meet a doc?). But this one is a homeopath (the sweetness of all those tiny medicine balls I had in the childhood rush into the memory) and is rather safe, I thought.

After an hour long wait in the corridor and the question answer session with the would-be docs, I was introduced to a panel consisting of both veterans and ‘kutty’ doctors. The panel investigated for 10 minutes and prescribed a few desirably sweet medicines, but leaving me clueless of what the problem is. By the time the condition had worsened to such an extend that I couldn’t even move my hand for six days.

Temporarily crippled and unable to perform basic day to day activities from brushing the teeth to taking bath to changing the dress, I decided to go back home (to the care and comfort of mommy). Helped by the good old room mate in packing, I set out to the railway station early the next morning. With the pain mounting, even hiring a vehicle and purchasing the tickets were like visits to hell (Well I haven’t seen one, have you?). Comfortably seated near the window I had time enough (five long hours) to care and caress my little finger (in clear view of the fellow passengers who had plenty of sympathy in stock).

Rushing back from her duties at her office, Mommy’s attempts to take me to the family doctor failed (No..it will be ok for tomorrow.. I’ve met a doctor… He’ll ask me to do the blood test…ha ha ha) and thankfully the pain subsided by evening.

No…the story isn’t over…
As the right hand is immovable, all the activities were done with the left hand. While lending a formal helping hand to mommy in kitchen (believe it or not) the left little finger accidentally hit the kitchen slab opening a new episode of the fingery tale.
Following the footsteps of its predecessor, this finger too developed a severe ache for the next day.

Being a master in attracting attention and sympathy, I could easily get hold of mommy’s attention with my caressing, massaging and little shrieks occasionally. At last she made up her mind to take the matter seriously.
Mom: Show it. Let me see how it looks like.
Me: That’s fine, but don’t touch.
Mom: How can I examine it without touching (hey, she isn’t a doc, mind it…)
Me: No, you tell me what to do. I’ll do it myself (trying to be brave)
Mom: Ok then, show me the gap between the little finger and the ring finger. Let me see how much the slab has hurt you (Ehm…)
Me: I told you no? It’s very painful to move, let alone separating the fingers! (smart eh?)
Mom: See, this wont work, show me your hand (pulling in forcefully towards her)
Me: Please, please, don’t do anything, its very painful (serious this time)
Mom: Let me see what will happen (separates the two fingers, but carefully)

What followed was beyond the descriptive limits of my language. Both of us wondered where that shrill, loud shriek (or yell) came from. Tears flowed out of my eyes like rivers, beyond control. I had just experienced the greatest pain in my life.
Mommy didn’t know what to do for a while. On the other hand, I was trying to control the cry fruitlessly, at the same time thinking how to bring down the unimaginable pain triggered by the separation of the fingers. But mommy didn’t think much.
“Get ready, let’s go to the hospital”, the order was passed, with no opposition this time.

The good old lady doctor was pretty jovial and prescribed some tablets followed by a comment: “It’s better to get some painkiller injected if the pain is too much”. Think of devil and devil is here. What to do now? My efforts to object failed and the deed was decided to be done with mommy’s assistance.
I closed my eyes at the very sight of the big needle; despite the subsided giggles of the nurses (well…it’s their birth right, why should I mind?). The closing became airtight when the needle touched the skin of the outer palm. It pierced in slowly forming a realization that it’s not as painful as an ant bite. But why are they not taking it away?
“Hasn’t she had any food today?” that’s the nurse’s voice.
“Oh yes! She has had enough at noon”, mommy’s reply.
“Then why isn’t the medicine going in?”

You guessed right…My veins had stopped functioning out of fear.
Somehow, the nurse managed to send the medicine into my circulatory system and the pain subsided in an hour.

* * *
Back at office after a long vacation (as I never used to take leave for more than three days consecutively), there were a number of admirers waiting to see those two little fingers that taught me a hard lesson not to under estimate even your little finger. So, next time when you have a light task to do, seek something else for help, but not the little fingers.