Staying Home: A year and three months after Hurricane Ian
More than a week has passed since I left the house. I left to take my husband, Tom, to the emergency room because he'd nearly severed his left index finger on his table saw. Hearing his screams caused me to shoot out of the pool. I raced past spots of blood on the floor, and I found him in the living room, a dish towel wrapped around his left hand. He was in a mild state of shock. I called 911, then raced to put on dry clothes because I know from experience that those EMTs arrive promptly. Amazingly, there was not much blood to mark the occasion. As one of the EMTs pointed out, there was more pool water on the floor than blood. As the EMTs cleaned some sawdust out of the wound and stuck the dangling finger back on, binding it with gauze, I asked questions such as, "Will he be able to type?" Two EMTs laughed, thinking this was a joke. But a third EMT said, "Is he an author?" "Yes," I answered. "Will he still be able to play the drums?" was m...