A Small Sliver of Glass

It was the smallest sliver of glass, barely visible even with a magnifying glass and sharp eyes.


Jacob, despite all his mother's warnings about going barefoot in the field, stepped on it and gave a loud "Ouch!" followed by a curse worthy of a sailor.  Fearful of a scolding, he hobbled to the well to wash the blood off and probe the wound, searching in vain for the source of the pain.  For such a tiny piece of glass, it was wondrously painful and as he told Nana when he appeared at the back door, She's bleeding like a sumbitch.  My grandmother sighed, set Jacob on the kitchen counter where the light was brightest, and sent me for her first aid kit.  The boy squirmed like an eel as she rinsed his heel and patted it dry, removed the glass, and applied a generous dose of iodine and a bandage.


You keep it clean and covered, she instructed sternly, Infection ain't likely but you'd look mighty foolish with just one foot.


Yes'm, Jacob said with a wince as he set both feet on the floor and limped toward the door, Thank you, ma'am.


Despite Nana's first aid, infection did set in and within a week the wound was blackened and swollen.  By the second week, there were clear signs of gangrene and by the third, Jacob could barely walk - all of this he kept hidden as best he could - but when it became apparent that the infection might cost him a foot, there wasn't much choice.  Nana recruited John Sullivan to help and after Jacob's mother had cleaned and bandaged the abscess and packed a lunch, they put the boy into the back seat of the old Lincoln and headed for the mainland doctor in Yarmouth.


It was, John said, a grim and silent ride.  Jacob was feverish, restless and in pain and his mother guilt stricken and frantic with worry, could do little more than cry.  The amputation was done the following morning, just above the ankle, an inch of two above the red streaks of blood poisoning creeping slowly upward from Jacob's heel.


A limb for a life, John Sullivan told my grandmother and Jacob's weeping mother, Boy's young and a fighter, he'll learn to get along.


By the following summer, Jacob had grown two inches and added twenty pounds.  Not only had he learned to get along, he'd gotten adept with his crutches, moving with slightly awkward but impressive speed and overcoming obstacles with practice and sheer stubbornness.  No one much noticed what they'd feared would be a disability
and, it was often repeated, there wasn't much he couldn't do once he'd set his mind to it.  


Just goes to show, John Sullivan remarked, a limb for a life is a fine enough bargain.