Jack

The ambos wheeled him in, sitting upright on a stretcher, with his right hand bandaged and held up at face level. Even then, he was nattering away to anyone whose attention he could capture. At that point in time I was fully occupied and wasn’t much interested. About an hour later, I became free and he was the next patient to be seen - I had to become interested.

“What have you done, mate?” I asked, as I approached the trolley.

“Well, it’s like this,” he said, and I was reminded of those crusty old codgers one will occasionally find propped in the corner of the bar in a country pub. World wise and weary of it all they usually have a jaundiced view of the world which they express in a colourful idiom. “I went to the dunny and the lock on the door broke so I couldn’t get out. I shouted out to Mum but she was out the back, with her music playing loud, and she couldn’t hear me.”

“Strewth,” I said. “That must have been a worry. Couldn’t you fix the lock or at least get it to work somehow.”

“Come off it! The thing’s been buggered for ages and today it just fell apart. It’s completely knackered.”

“Couldn’t your Dad fix it?”

“Haven’t got a Dad! He bolted years ago. There’s just me and Mum and me little bother Jason and me little sister Kylie. Yair, he’s gone and it was me birthday on Saturday and me with no Dad.”

“What did you get for your birthday?”

“A cricket set. Me and Jason have been playing with it but he’s too small. I always beat him.”

“Yair. OK. Now tell me how you managed to injure your hand.”

“Well, like I said, I was locked in the dunny and couldn’t get out so I climbed up on the seat and then onto the flushing thing and punched out the glass in the little window. As soon as I did it I knew I should have wrapped me T-shirt around me hand first but I didn’t and blood started spurting everywhere.”

“Yair? By the look of your shorts and shirt you could have done a couple of rounds with Casseus Clay.”

“Casseus Clay? Who’s he?”

“Ahhh - he’s a kind of old fashioned Danny Green. Champion American Negro boxer from the last century.”

“Danny Green! I reckon he will beat that tall skinny bloke on Sunday night, don’t you?”

“Hope so. But I don’t seem to be getting any closer to the problem with your hand.”

“I told you. I cut it on the window glass.”

“And so you did. Which part of your hand?”

“Me thumb was what was bleeding the most.”

“Was the blood squirting out like from a hose?”

“Nuh. It was just pouring out all over the place.”

“OK. Now, how did you get out of the toilet?”

“I kept punching all the bits of glass out of the window then climbed through and jumped down onto the ground.”

“Let’s have a look at your feet.” I asked as I pulled the sheet up.

“Why? I only cut me thumb.”

“Well, I reckon that if you punched the glass out of the window then jumped out of it you may well have landed on broken glass and cut your feet.”

“Nuh. I thought of that and made sure I jumped as far out as I could.”

He was right, of course, and I could find no evidence of laceration on his feet which, obviously, had rarely, if ever, been enclosed in shoes.

I then took down the dressing from his hand. The bleeding had stopped but there was a nasty gash across the crease on the palmar surface. Testing his perception to light touch revealed a numb area on the thumb distal to the laceration indicating he had severed at least one branch of the three nerves that supply that surface of the thumb.

By chance there was an orthopaedic surgeon operating in the hospital that day. I asked him to have a look. While examining the wound he asked me if I had tested sensation to pin prick. I said no and he informed me light touch was not sensitive enough. (He was not at all condescending and I appreciated the learning.) He proceeded to test with the tip of an hypodermic needle. Jack said “Ouch!” quite a few times and, “I can’t feel that.” When the numb area was pricked.

“I agree. He appears to have severed a small branch of the nerve and I think it warrants exploration and possibly an attempt at a repair.” The surgeon said to me.

Jack had to have his ten cents worth and said, “Yair? Ken worked it out without having to stick needles into me!” He had obviously read the name badge I wore and decided it was OK to refer to me as Ken rather than Doctor Hay.

The surgeon asked me to arrange for written permission to operate, plus complete the other paperwork without which no one can be admitted to hospital, and returned to the theatre. He would add Jack to the end of his operating list for the day.

“OK Jack. Do you understand what is happening?”

“Yep. He’s gunna operate on me thumb to fix the nerve so I can feel it again.”

“That’s right. An anaesthetist will put you to sleep first, of course. Now, where is your Mum? I need to get her to sign some papers before the surgeon can operate.”

“Well, the ambulance blokes said they couldn’t bring us all to hospital so Mum said she would ask the lady next door to drive them here. I reckon she should be here any time now. I’ve been here for ages.”

With that, Jack’s mother and siblings came into the cubicle. A little boy of about seven and a little girl of about five. Mum was about five feet tall and walked with the gait of someone who had, probably, spina bifida. I explained the situation to her and the poor lady immediately started crying. So did Jason and Kylie. Jack started protesting that he would be all right.

“Jack, I reckon you should give Mum a big hug.” This he did and he also hugged Kylie and Jason although Jason wasn’t too keen on the idea.

When they had all settled down Mum signed the forms and Jack was wheeled off to the ward with Mum, Kylie and Jason tagging along behind the trolley. He called out, “Thank’s, Ken.” as the trolley passed through the doors. I never saw them again.

That boy – for that is what he was and only ten years of age – was just brim full of personality. It seemed to me he was the man of the house and they were all lost without him. He is going to face an uphill battle as he gets older. If his social circumstances permit him to make it into adulthood without falling foul of the law then I reckon he will grasp life firmly by the scruff of the neck and shake the bejesus out of it.

I hope he does. And one day he may well finish up as one of those crusty old blokes propped in the corner of a country pub - or better ….