MISS BRENDA'S BROKEN THUMB

Miss Brenda is my grandaughter’s bus driver. As consequence of their parent’s tight, morning schedules, I--the children's grandfather-- have been pressed into service. So each morning, I walk my two young granddauughters to the bus stop. Together, we listen for the big yellow bus, which arrives at 8:45 AM sharp. Its first stop is just up the road, in front of little Jason’s house. From our stop we watch Jason's mom corall the active youngster and get him on board. Then the bus rumbles up to our stop. I keep the eager little girls perched on the edge of my neighbor’s lawn.

The bus roars up, its breaks squeal. Then it comes to a noisy stop.

“OK, kids, let’s go,” I call.

Miss Brenda, a small woman of about 35 years, sitting high on the big driver's seat, opens the doors with a “woosh”, and the two little girls rush on board.

In these circumstances, it is common for little pleasantries to be passed by the adults present, such as: “Have a nice day!” or “Watch for the rainy weather predicted for this afternoon.” After several days, a strange form of on-going, intermittent conversation begins..consisting of a few words each day, separated by a twenty-four hour period. That's how, over about a week, by means of brief snatches of conversation, I learned that Miss Barbara had a minor mishap before entering her bus one morning.

One day, a few days prior, she had tripped over a loose piece of rubber on the lower step of her bus and jammed her thumb between the first seat-frame and the floor. She said, "I saw stars!" Her thumb swelled up and remained numb and very painful all that day. Though I'm no nosey-body, but in similar innocent-fashion I learned also that Miss Brenda has no medical insurance…she is working for the bus company in a part-time capacity. Her husband, a carpenter, is now employed only part-time as well, and has also has no medical coverage. The couple have a young daughter who attends the middle school---and a mortgage to pay. Miss Brenda’s small income as a school-bus driver, makes family’s financial-ends just about meet. If she were to get seriously hurt or sick…she would simply be out of work and out of that critical pay check. So with her very painful thumb she silently rode out that day, trying to keep her throbbing, swollen finger from touching the wheel.

A few days later her accident came to my notice one day when my granddaughter attempted to hand her a little bouquet of flowers. The child’s hand bumped hers and she winced in pain.

“Sorry honey,” she said with a crooked smile, I can’t take the flower” the ache in her swollen hand was clearly reflected in her face. Over the curly, be-ribboned head of my charge, she explained to me: “Been suffering with this thumb,” she said, shaking it gently to relieve the pain.

That’s when she explained how it happened.

“You should see a doctor,” I offered, raising my voice over the rumbling engine and the chatter of the youngsters greeting each other in the bus aisle.

“What doctor? I can’t afford to go to no doctor.”

“The swelling,” I began….

“Jest a little infection,” she said.

“Is it numb anywhere?”

“Naw, not no more,”

“But if the pain is so sharp,” I persisted, “the bone might be broken.” I added, feeling, I should give my professional opinion, even though I’m retired a long time now.

“I have a friend who’s a nurse, in St. Mary’s, I showed it to her and, she says, she thinks it’s jest a sprain,” said Miss Barbara, resting the hurt-hand gingerly on the big vibrating steering wheel.

“But you should…”

“I been takin’ big doses of ‘butes’ and that seems to help the pain,” she added, as she smiled wanly and waved to me.

Realizing our conversation was ended, I smiled too.

“Have a nice day,” she called out, as she closed the big folding doors.

I walked back home thinking of Miss Brenda. From what she said, and seeing her sharp reaction to the pain, I was pretty sure she had a broken thumb and thus she would at least need a good splint. I was determined to encourage her at our next encounter to perhaps go to the Emergency Room at St. Mary’s Hospital. There they would probably put it in a cast for her.

The weekend passed, and Monday arrived, as my little troop and I walked to the bus stop, I mentally prepared a quick statement for Miss Brenda. My brief time arrived when the two youngsters climbed the bus steps.

“Hi Miss Brenda, how’s the thumb?”

“Oh, still pretty painful, but I figured a way out,” she said, smiling and holding up her hand, for me to see. The hand revealed a wide strip of masking-tape which bound her thumb to her index finger.

“I found that by taping the thumb tight against my first finger, the pain ain’t so bad, and I could still hold the wheel pretty good. “

“Oh?, did the swelling go down?”

“Yeah, and the discoloring’s goin’ away too.”

“So you can drive OK?”

“Yeah, I’m a tough as an old....! You know what I mean! I can’t say it in front o’ these kids,” she said, reaching for the door-handle.

“Have a nice day,” I called out.

“Yeah…you too.”

"Hope you feel better...I yelled out as the door closed.

As the bus pulled away…and I walked back home, I thought about Miss Brenda. Perhaps her thumb would heal OK and she would recover and have full use of it. But Miss Brenda’s broken thumb, had me pondering, about how here in the US, our medical system--which serves some so well--but for others, there may only prolonged pain, over-the-counter medicines, and masking tape. And yeah...hope.

Get the picture?

rjk