The hand that survived

The moment had come to intervene medically.
To change from being an artist-photographer into a surgeon.
Well, temporarily that is.

The large office table in the Fuso Szulc expedition vehicle was transformed into the operation table.
All the equipment, like the Swiss army knife and a pair of scissors, were put to be easily available during the precarious medical intervention.
Medical cotton too was there as well as liquids to disinfect.

The procedure to perform was to take out the stitches from the terrible wound suffered from a fatal fall in La Paz, Baja California, Mexico two weeks ago.









There is this tendency to often dramatize a situation.
This comes from an imagination permanently out of control.
Although friends had informed that taking out stitches was easy and simple, the imagination had turned it beforehand into an episode of *MASH*.
Helicopters moving above the hospital tent, explosions of mortars nearby and amputations imminent.
Reality proved to be opposite from the fantasy arisen beforehand.
There were no helicopters like in a Francis Ford Coppola film.
No explosions of mortar bombs like now in Afghanistan.
And taking out the stitches was piece of cake.
With the sharp scissors of the Swiss army knife the plastic wires were cut and with a pair of teeny tweezers the stitch could be pulled out like it was coming out of "I can't believe it is not butter".
And guess what, most importantly, it was absolutely painless.

Once this professional job well done by this amateur surgeon finished, the fantasy and imagination took over once more.
Saying, if this went so well, maybe now that you are at it, any other surgical intervention to perform?
The Swiss army knife sterilized and the operating theatre prepared, how about some liposuction?
Or facelifting?
Or African style buttock enlargement?
Even maybe some brain surgery to limit future fantasies and imaginations?

But better not be a fool in these delicate matters.
Anyway, there is on this body no fat to liposuck, it is too young for facelifting and how to get to the brains with a Swiss army knife decently?

Don't think this is all silly chit-chat.
Once, several weeks were spent documenting the life at a small clinic of a religious settlement out in the boondocks of Zimbabwe, Africa.
A Mission of the Catholic Church called "Regina Caeli" in Katerere District near the border with Mozambique.
The clinic was run by a doctor from the Netherlands and the church of the Mission by nuns from the UK and Italy.
One night there was a serious brawl in a nearby bar.
A bus driver was attacked who had an accident some weeks before.
Several children were killed in that tragedy.
The father of one of the kids saw the bus driver in the bar and couldn't control his anger.
Influenced by too much beer he attacked the bus driver with a broken bottle.
Who tried to protect himself by shielding with his hands.
Beaten up he was brought to the clinic of "Regina Caeli".
One hand was a big open wound from receiving the broken beer bottle.
The poor man couldn't move his fingers anymore as all tendons were cut.
The Dutch doctor decided to operate him and tie the tendons back together.
The bus driver got anesthesia used usually to operate on horses and was put on an improvised operating table.
Assisted by one African nurse, in the presence of the photographer, the doctor cut open the hand to reach all the tendons.
To discover that inside a hand, it is a pretty complicated situation.
He had no clue where he had arrived.
So, he asked the African nurse to run to his house to get a book with illustrations of the hand.
Anatomic illustrations of the complex web of tendons and muscles to move five fingers.
Once back, the African nurse had to hold up the book next to the butchered hand and checking the illustrations the doctor tried to find how to connect everything correctly.
The problem was not the tendons going to the fingers.
When pulled, the finger would move.
But the tendons coming out of the wrist were the problem.
You can't just connect as you think is convenient.
A has to go to A, B to B, etc
Eventually, the sweating and hard working doctor had to give up.
He simply closed the hand and the bus driver was sent to a real hospital in a city.
By ambulance.

This anecdote to explain how proud the pioneering photographer felt after his successful surgical intervention.
On his own hand!!!