It was a perfect day for splitting logs: fresh breeze, cool, sunny. I enjoy this sort of work, with its rhythm and sense of accomplishment as the pile of large pieces is processed into a pile of more usable sizes. Pick up a log, place it on the splitter’s horizontal surface, pull the hydraulic lever, wait. Let the machine do its job. Easy-breezy.

Any hydraulic tool commands respect and attention. I’m always careful to wear leather gloves and eye protection and to be mindful of placing each log just right so that it yields to the relentless pressure of the wedge. Well, almost always, it turns out. There came a moment as I waited for the piston to dig the splitter into the log (and it only took an instant) when I felt a pinch on the forefinger of my left hand. Even as it happened, I knew. Even as I yanked my hand off the log, I knew. Even as I realized I had – whew! – escaped true physical harm, I knew my finger was hurt.

The finger could still bend normally, so I knew right away that the joints and bone were uninvolved. The ligaments and tendons seemed ok. So it was only a flesh wound! I knew it would bleed, probably badly–but again, whew! That was close.

Bleed it did. When I removed the glove, the wound proved to be an interesting bridge avulsion with a strip of intact skin over the two disrupted openings on either side. It was (very) deep. In addition to all the layers of skin, the full depth of muscle was also involved.

To a medic like me, it was a matter of getting the bleeding under control with a tight pressure bandage, and, because the splitter was rented and because I wasn’t finished and because the glove still fit over the bandaids, I went back to work. Clearly, no stitches were needed, and, well, there was a job to be done. I would clean it well later, and I would do all the right things to avoid infection or other post-injury developments that would interfere with healing. I already knew, though: this one was going to take some time to heal.

That all happened days ago. I’ve kept the wound dry and well-covered. I have surrounded its edges with antibacterial ointment. I will not be able to stop wearing a gauze bandage (bandaids don’t allow it to breathe) for a while yet. But, yes, it will heal. This wound is tender, especially when it gets bumped, but I can live with it. This time will pass, although it promises to leave behind a considerable scar. I will always have a reminder to watch out for the details, especially in situations where bad results will likely be significant–such as using a hydraulic tool. It will remind me to be more vigilant about protecting myself from harm.

In addition, this small story of mine and its aftermath now seems an apt metaphor of sorts on a different level. My crushing injury occurred on Saturday, November 2, 2024. Three days later, a mystifying majority of people in America delivered a different sort of crushing result, from my point of view. The result of the U.S. elections has created a situation which, I fear, will leave us all with deep wounds to suffer, regardless how each individual voted. I wonder if healing will ever come for those whose lifetimes have been spent building social justice, equality, and a civil society. So many hopes and dreams of so many have been crushed. There will be scars.