Yup, Finger Therapy at New York-Presbyterian

Please don’t make fun of the fact that I am currently in finger therapy at New York-Presbytarian Hospital. Never mind, go ahead: everyone else seems quite entertained by this, so you might as well be, too. And I do see the humor in this situation. I do. That is, when I’m not writhing in pain.

Here’s what happened: a few months back, I cut my left index finger with an extremely sharp pair of scissors. I did this while visiting my mom down in Delaware. We rushed over to the local Emergency Room for stitches. No big deal, except that the cut was right on my finger joint. This meant I had to wear a splint for two weeks because bending the finger would keep re-opening the wound. A special bandage kept my finger straight for a few more weeks.

As a result, my finger froze in a straight position. The joint tightened up and so did the skin. Point is, bending it is now surprisingly excruciating. So yes, silly little injury. Big pain in the…finger.

The other thing is that the scar looks…well, odd. It’s still red and shaped kind of like a tiny piece of pizza with rounded edges. The skin flap didn’t heal down onto the rest of my finger. Instead, it curled up, kind of like a hook. It looks almost like a tiny 6th appendage. My brother likened it to the snout of a little rodent, perhaps a mole. In a genuine attempt to make me feel better, one friend said it looked like a wart.

It has been suggested by a few medical practitioners that I should have requested a plastic surgeon while still in the ER. In fact, the concept did cross my mind, but it felt somewhat vain to do so. Now, I’m on deck for some reconstructive work, however the plastic surgeon won’t touch it until I regain full mobility.

Hence, finger therapy. This takes place in the Occupational Therapy department on the 18th floor of New York-Presbyterian Hospital - Weill Cornell Medical Center on York Avenue at 68th. Here, they work on all the upper extremities: arms, wrists, shoulders and hands.

I am a lifelong athlete, so am no stranger to therapy. In fact, all my limbs have gone through some kind of therapy at one point or another. I know all about electro stimulation, deep tissue massage, icing, heat, oversized rubber bands for resistance exercises. I know about re-building strength and flexibility and I’ve engaged in a lot of weird rehabilitative exercises.

This process has been the strangest to date. Let’s start with the Jane Fonda-esque exercises. I invite you to imagine my finger wearing a headband and a spandex leotard while I count “and one…and two…and three…”. The corresponding resistance exercises don’t involve a tiny barbell, but you can imagine one of those if you want. There are sponges of varying sponginess to squeeze. There’s a tiny finger-sized sling to wear that holds it in a bent position.

The quirkiest activity is wrapping my hand around dowels of varying circumference and stamping holes with them into a lump of blue putty. The resulting pattern looks like some kind of alien flora or deep sea creature.

My therapist is Upper East Side resident Lora Stubin-Amelio. She’s been an Occupational Therapist since 1988 and certified to focus on hands for 17 years. She became interested in the field during high school when she dislocated her own finger playing softball and had to receive hand therapy.

I like Lora, even though she repeatedly hurts me. First of all, it’s obvious that she knows what she’s doing and second of all, she’s nice about it. Before she bends my finger all the way (and my sweat glands transform into individual shower spouts), she says, “I know you’re going to hate me for this…” But I don’t. She’s purposefully chatty – in order to distract me from the pain. She tells me that she enjoys seeing the change in patients and helping them go back to daily activities. Just interacting with people, in general, is one of her favorite parts of the job.

She says that, in her department, they see a lot of distal radius (wrist) fractures and also, due to the hospital’s burn center, they work with a lot of burn victims. She told me that skin injuries often result in the tightening of the joint capsule. In my small way, I can confirm this. This process has been a learning experience and an interesting little window into another career path, another nook of New York.

Granted, my situation can be classified as more of an annoyance than a tragedy and I’m sure I’ll return to full finger health, soon or soonish, anyway. I do believe that everything happens for a reason. Even just walking down that section of York Avenue with all the hospitals on a weekly basis provides a dose of perspective. Seeing people who are dealing with far more serious issues reminds me to be generally thankful for my health.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some exercises to do and putty to poke…