JUST A LITTLE MIRACLE

A true story by Linda Katwijk

It was the day before Thanksgiving, 2002. I was busy making pies with my two married daughters, Shari and Sheena. My husband, Kim, and Shari's husband, Uriah, were cutting wood on a table saw out in the shop. Sheena's husband, Roger and the rest of our children, Lance, Jason, Tannan, Brandon, Rahzjon, and Anali were playing games.
Suddenly, Uriah and Kim burst into the house, obviously distraught. Someone asked, "What happened?" and Kim said disgustedly, “Oh, I cut off my thumb!” Ever calm and cool, I exclaimed, “What!?!”
Well, it was nearly cut off. Turn your thumb away from your body and pretend you are reaching for a board next to the table saw blade. Then turn your attention away for a second while still reaching. Did you cringe? Yeah, me, too.
The cut was between the first joint and the end of his thumb and went clear to the underside of his thumbnail—yes, through the bone. We taped it tightly in place, then Sheena gave me some Ibuprofen for the headache I was having—for Kim. He didn’t have one, just me.
Kim paced around the house trying to decide what to do. He didn’t want to go to the emergency room, saying, “They’re just going to cut it off.” Sheena, Shari, Uriah, Roger and I all tried to convince him that he had to go. Finally, I called his doctor who impressed me by getting personally on the phone within minutes. Of course, he said that Kim needed to go and that they would most likely sew it back on, so he talked to Kim and convinced him to go. Sheena volunteered to take him, so I stayed home and finished the pies. They left before 4 p.m. and got home around 9 with his thumb sewn back on. He had a brace to protect his thumb, and antibiotics and pain pills. Uriah gave him a blessing, so I believed his thumb would heal properly.
One thing irked me, though; here a guy practically cuts off his thumb, then he’s given specific instructions to call a certain doctor on Friday for a same day appointment. He tries to contact the doctor, but the answering service won’t allow him to talk to that doctor, so he has to call the doctor on call, who doesn’t want to see him until Monday. On Monday he calls, and the doctor can’t see him until Wednesday. That’s a whole week since it happened!
We felt that it was a waste of time and money to see the doctor at that point, so Kim cancelled the appointment and just continued caring for it himself, like he had been for a whole week. We took the stitches out after they’d been in for ten days.
His thumb was totally numb on the end, and at that time the pinkness that used to be just under the nail was spreading, so that was a good sign. We were hopeful, but our faith would soon be tried.
As Kim continued to care for his thumb, it appeared to get better, then took a turn for the worse. It started turning black. On December 18th, I emailed family members asking them to fast and pray for him.
On the evening of December 23, Kim and I removed his bandages once again. The skin on the end of the thumb was black and hard. We decided that he would have to go back to the doctor the next day—and probably have it amputated. I felt awful about it and didn’t sleep very well that night.
Christmas Eve morning Kim got up and left the bedroom. I got on my knees and started crying and whining (yes, whining) before the Lord and begging him to heal the thumb.
A few minutes later, Kim came into the bedroom and showed me a thumb that was pink with new skin! I couldn’t say anything, I just burst into tears and hugged him. He cried, too, and said, “I think it’s going to be a good Christmas after all!” We thanked the Lord for the miracle.