Freaky-Finger Friday

Posted by: Janet on: April 26th, 2006  »  6 comments

Warning: This blog entry is not for the faint of heart! Let me start by saying that this is the first time I’ve been physically able to blog since last Friday, April 21st, which I’ll heretofore refer to as “Freaky-Finger Friday.” (If you discover any typos in this text, you’ll soon find out why, and hopefully forgive me.)

For me, Freaky-Finger Friday started out like most other days—rushed. That’s a familiar state for me. Must be an Aries trait. I’m actually quite well-known for getting too many speeding tickets and also for never giving myself enough time to get to appointments, to catch planes, or to even make golf tee times. For example, on the day before Freaky-Finger Friday—which happened to be my birthday—I thought I was going to be late for a dentist appointment. In typical fashion, I flew out the door, high-jumped into my SUV and drove like Dale Earnhardt Jr., skillfully weaving in and out of rush-hour traffic to get there. Sighing in relief that I did, indeed, make it on time, I was escorted into the dentist’s chair. As the chair reclined, I gasped. Looking down at my feet, I could see that I had two different shoes on! One brown. One black. A high heel and a flat. And I didn’t even notice! I must have literally jumped into my shoes as I raced out of the house!

On Freaky-Finger Friday, as I was similarly racing out for a breakfast meeting, somehow (and I’m still not exactly sure how), the heavy steel front door of my house slammed violently shut onto my right index finger. Yeeee-oooowch! Actually, words really can’t explain how much that hurt (although a long string of expletives might come close!) I lapsed into semi-shock when I noticed the door had ripped through the tip of my finger. It was hangin’ by a thread. Almost off. Ugghh! You see, I don’t have a fingernail on that particular finger, so there was nothing to protect it from the blow. Why no nail? Well, that’s a story in itself:

The year was 1965, and Alfreda Podleski was about seven months pregnant with little fetus, Janet. Alfreda was at work using a large, industrial floor polisher when out of nowhere she received a huge jolt of an electrical shock–enough shock that she couldn’t get her hands free from the polisher for several seconds. My father happened to be nearby, rushed into the room, and pulled the plug from the wall. When my Mom delivered me a couple of months later, she said to the doctor (in her adorable Polish accent), “Look at the baby’s hands! Look at the baby’s hands!” Apparently, being the intuitive that she is, she suspected the shock would translate into some weird deformity—and it did. Sorta. I was born without fingernails on either of my index fingers. When they grew in, they were really, really crooked. The right one was so badly ingrown and crooked and painful that I had to have it pulled out by a doctor when I was in sixth grade. (In biology class, I used to entertain everyone by putting the deformed digit under a microscope. It was gross!) Needless to say, I’ll never star in Palmolive Dishwashing Liquid commercials.

Back to Freaky-Finger Friday. My next-door neighbour, Felicity, was now the one racing as she frantically drove me to the emergency ward, my throbbing finger packed in ice. The hospital was busy. A four-hour wait, I was told. “Oh, I hope my poor finger can hang on that long,” I thought. I waited patiently, and as Felicity later told me, very stoically. I was even cracking jokes with the reception nurse. Then something really freaky happened. You know, I’ve never been one who likes it when people fuss over me for being a well-known author or recognize me as “a celebrity,” as they say. I especially feel uncomfortable receiving any preferential treatment or privileges. But in this case, I welcomed it with open arms and nine and a half fingers. Turns out the reception nurse recognized my name from the cookbooks. “Oh my Goooodddd! I have Looneyspoons and Eat, Shrink and Be Merry! Me and my teenage boys loooovvvve them!” she exclaimed. I was blushing, my finger was dripping red. She examined it. “Wow, you really did a number on this! Ick! Let’s get you in to see a doctor.”

From there, it seemed there was a parade of nurses and emergency workers who were familiar with our books and who were fans. It was really nice to hear their compliments. I was still in the reception area when I felt a tap on the shoulder. “Hi, I’m Becky. I’m you’re biggest fan! Wow, it’s really you. I’m gonna get you in and out of here really quick. This is so exciting!” While I wouldn’t classify my super-traumatic, excruciatingly painful blow as “exciting,” I soon discovered why she said what she did. Nurse Becky, who was young, very pretty and very engaging, told me her story. She’d been overweight her entire life. “Obese,” she said. It was tough growing up like that, with the teasing from other kids. Her four other sisters were blessed with fast metabolisms and had always been thin. She was the oddball. Her teenage years were very difficult. She weighed over 200 pounds, which I found hard to believe as I observed this sleek, healthy-looking woman applying Polysporin to my injury. Then, in her late teens, she ended up buying a copy of Looneyspoons. She loved the food. She followed the nutrition advice. She laughed at the jokes. It worked. Her weight now hovers around 135 and she looks gorgeous. She’s recently moved in with her boyfriend and says they’ll be getting married soon. She told me that our book changed her life. Wow!

As I listened intently to every word Becky said, funny how I completely forgot about my almost-severed finger and the intense, throbbing pain I’d been experiencing. As she tended my wound, I knew that I had helped tend her wound, too. Nothing is more satisfying than the knowledge that you’ve positively impacted someone’s life. And that made me feel really, really good—a lot better than the Tylenol-3 with Codeine that the hospital sent me home with.

P.S. My busted-up finger got stitched back together by a nice doctor who told me the prognosis was good. It looked as though the blood supply in the tip was sufficient to keep my finger from turning black and falling off. And that’s a good thing, considering we’re filming a TV cooking series in late summer. “Oh, is that a black olive in this pasta dish?… Whaaaat the… ?

P.S.S. I’ve learned my lesson about speeding around and being late all the time. Slow down to the speed of life. Take more time. Plan ahead a little. I feel that this finger lesson was meant to point me in the right direction, for sure.

Comments (6)

  1. Reply

    Stephanie | April 26, 2006 at 5:18 pm →

    No index finger nails? Then whose stunt-nail appears on the cover of ES&BM?

    Hmm.

  2. Reply

    Janet Podleski | April 27, 2006 at 8:36 am →

    In response to Stephanie’s comment about how I appear to have a fingernail on the cover of ES& BM, you’re right–I do–thanks to the magic of photo-retouching! I do believe the stunt-nail was the one from my own pinky. (At least I do my own stunts!)

    Thanks for being so perceptive, Stephanie. You’d make a good detective!

  3. Reply

    Kevin the Hab Hater | April 27, 2006 at 11:53 am →

    Hey Janetski- regarding the wearing of mis-matching shoes……..do you not have a similar story from a past Corel Christmas party? That one is better because I believe the difference was that one was a high heel, and one was a normal shoe. How does one walk around for 90 minutes before noticing that?!

  4. Reply

    Janet Podleski | April 27, 2006 at 1:44 pm →

    Yes, Kevin, I’m quite embarassed to say that this is the second time in my life that I have accidently gone out in public wearing two distinctly different shoes. The Corel Christmas party was much worse than the hour-long dentist appointment–I had to socialize and dance all night long at the party, and although I’ve never been a good dancer, on that particular night I looked a lot like Elaine from Seinfeld.

    P.S. Your name is now in today’s draw for a free copy of Eat, Shrink & Be Merry! You should give the book to Joe so he can win some points with one of his many lady friends.

  5. Reply

    SoonerSusan | April 27, 2006 at 5:42 pm →

    I wish I would’ve been one of the nurses so I would’ve had the chance to gush and give you the star treatment as well! My 10 yr old has deemed y’all(sorry, we Okies can’t help it) as “hilarious” and yourbooks have given us many fun-filled cooking sessions.
    (p.s.-look on the bright side, it’s not a middle finger…..oops)

  6. Reply

    LePrincess | April 27, 2006 at 9:42 pm →

    Ouch!! I’ve only just discovered your books (and subsequently this blog) but already I am amazed. Maybe one day I will have a story as good as Nurse Becky :)

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