Henrietta Hay's Column

The phrase "trigger finger" has always brought to my mind a picture of Gary Cooper standing alone on the dusty, empty street at High Noon, his hands hanging down, elbows slightly bent, forefinger itching, just waiting to draw his trusty .45 and end forever the career of the villain and save the town.

When one of the fingers on my right hand started to make popping sounds when I straightened it, I found that I had something in common with Gary Cooper - a trigger finger. I never shot a gun, and if I did I wouldn't use the ring finger to pull the trigger, so I can only theorize that some doctor somewhere saw "High Noon" and named a finger after it.

The doctors have detailed explanations of the miraculous complexity of our fingers, and how they work, or don't work, but none seemed to know exactly what causes this weird, noisy condition. My friend the philosopher insists that those hours I spent playing gin rummy with my computer after Christmas might have had something to do with it. For all the time spent, however, I never did get up to the "experienced" class.

The minor surgery required to "snip" the trigger was hardly in a class with that which we watch on ER or Chicago Hope, but I learned that doctors and nurses really do conduct conversations while they are working. In fact, the most exciting part of the whole thing as I lay helpless, was the nurse's description of what she saw shortly before 5 that morning. She was on her way to exercise (note the value of physical fitness) and driving south when she saw the space shuttle Endeavor fly over Grand Junction. According to CNN, in its final half hour of flight on its way to Florida, Endeavor passed over Colorado, traveling at 3,600 miles an hour. She described it as a golden "orangy" glow with a long light blue tail, which crossed the southern sky in a huge arc.

What a wonderful image, and how I envied her for having seen it. That conversation was a lot better than you get on ER.

If I had a small child in my home I would encourage her to become ambidextrous. I have no intention of doing the research, so am not sure whether it is something, which can be taught, but it would be a great convenience. After all these years of being right-handed, several days of being a lefty were pretty weird.

The chief problem I had was that for a couple of days I couldn't manage the computer keyboard. I am much too old and impatient to hunt and peck with my left hand for very long. I did manage to send the following e-mail to son Dave, "Scuse my typig. I had te surgery n my finger yesterday and am typing one handd. Did you ever try to dog peanit butter out of tje jar witj tje knife in left hand?" His response, "Looks like getting a letter from a foreign land."

Next to typing, peanut butter was my greatest challenge, especially since I practically lived on the stuff for a couple of days. Did you ever try to dig peanut butter out of the jar holding the knife in your left hand? Sounds simple, but just try it for fun some time. And then there is the problem of getting the food from the dish into the mouth. I felt like a two year trying to handle a bowl of oatmeal. On the plus side, however, I had an excuse for not cooking, and friends brought me "chicken soup for the soul" -- chocolate ice cream and cookies.

The combination of Endeavor and my popping finger does give some perspective on what's serious and what's minor in this world. I hope I'm old enough to know the difference. In the ultimate scheme of things this was a pretty minor inconvenience, but I do know that when I see somebody sporting a cast on her/his right arm, I will be far more understanding and a lot more sympathetic.

And I can watch High Noon again without getting an itchy finger.