My Story

“She has the devil in her.” Those words have echoed through my mind for the last six years. Who says that about a dog and how did he know?

We adopted a rescue pup and spent every effort trying to incorporate her into the pack. She would constantly attack our senior pug, Dublin. I thought maybe she just needed more exercise, so we would walk for three to four miles each day to wear her out with the other dogs. We would go to the dog park and we did some obedience training. It was no use. Nothing tired her out and she was determined to hurt Dublin. The memory of him screaming each time she attacked him still haunts my mind.

There are always going to be the what ifs, and regrets. Maybe it was because she needed more training, maybe it was because we were going through a move which is very stressful, maybe she really did have the devil in her.

It was on the frightful evening October 29th 2018. All four dogs and I made it to my parents house in Vermont. We were temporarily staying there until we could find a house in Massachusetts or Rhode Island closer to my husband's job. He was staying with friends in New Hampshire so he could take the train into Boston for work. Everything seemed normal and all of the dogs and myself were relaxing in bed before dinner.

The next few moments seemed to have happened so quickly and also were in slow motion. She lunged for Dublin and I intervened. Instead of her taking hold of him she had me. Just trying to write about it makes the whole event flash before my eyes. This is the first time I’m really telling the story. Each time I think about it- not that I can never think about it - the trauma, the stress, the pain all comes to the surface. This is usually the part where I have to stop. I’ve started writing this story a thousand times, but it’s important for me to share now. This is the time and I don’t want to hide anymore.

It felt as though she would never let go of me. I was in such a state of panic I wasn’t even sure what she had her teeth in. That was until she started shaking my hand and was determined to win the battle no matter what. I had my mom lock the other dogs in the bedroom and my parents tried to get her off of me. It almost felt like a time bomb was about to go off. She finally let go and I immediately ran to my mom’s bathroom. The pain was excruciating- I honestly can’t even explain how much pain I was in. I was about to run water on my hand to clean off the wound, but there was something missing. My middle finger was gone. I thought I was hallucinating due to the pain. I screamed to my mom that it was missing and to try to find it. That’s what the movies tell you right?! They can just sew it back on. It was gone. At that moment I knew my life would never be the same.

Movies and tv play down a hand injury. Have you ever gotten a paper cut and it hurt for days? The hand has the most nerve endings in the body (besides the brain). A hand injury is not a simple fix, but if you lose a limb…forget about it. What happens if you rely on your hands for the career you have chosen? I was a baker/chef and I wasn't sure if I could ever do that again. Some days I’m still not sure if it’s worth the pain.

I spent the next several months in occupational therapy not really being able to accomplish a lot. I couldn’t sleep for fear that when I closed my eyes the incident would keep replaying each time more vividly. I couldn’t live with my parents forever, especially with their house being my nightmare place.

I was finally reunited with my husband as we set our journey for Rhode Island. That’s where I met my first hand surgeon, you know if you don’t count the ER. That year began the biggest challenge I would have dealing with the aftermath.

Rhode Island - Part 2

Being alone for most of the day really messed with me. I tried to keep busy fixing the house up and gardening, but one little ding and I was in excruciating pain for hours. We decided to meet with a hand surgeon to see what could be done. The thought was take some of the torn bone out and give my “stump” because that’s the term they use, some cushion. We moved forward with the surgery.

To say I was ashamed of my hand was the understatement of the year. I did everything in my power to hide it. I wore long sleeves- even in the summer. I would hide it behind my back or cross my arms in crowds. Brian even 3D printed a “finger” cover. I had long ones for when I went out and short ones in all different colors for staying at home. I was so paranoid someone would stare at my freakish hand or even worse- ask me what happened.

After the surgery I had to go to occupational therapy. The last year I went at least I had my mom, although our insurance didn’t cover it. That was a nice $6500 slap in the face. This time I had to go on my own and get there on my own. I had stopped driving that year as well due to intense panic attacks. Even if I didn’t endure the panic attacks, trying to put the key in the ignition with my right hand was a struggle, grasping the wheel and the vibration of the car was enough to end my driving days. I didn’t last long going to OT. It was in a group setting and there were a lot of unpleasant comments that occurred. As if I wasn’t stressed out enough and dealing with my trauma.

There were some very dark days. Days where I wasn’t sure if there was a reason to keep going. I won’t get into all of the painful details, but I did have a going out strategy. I did all I could to distract my mind and not follow through with the plan. I had thought of starting the bakery back up, but Rhode Island doesn’t have cottage laws. I would have to use an incubator kitchen. I would have to take the bus and walk a mile to get there. I tried to find a job, but with as much experience I have in the restaurant industry- no one wanted to hire me. Of course I kind of dealt with that before. It seems that if you have worked for yourself many other businesses do not want to hire you. One of the mysteries of the world I guess.

I had to go to a few follow up appointments with the hand surgeon. During one we discussed my mental state and how I have trouble sleeping among other issues. He suggested I find a therapist since I had PTSD. It was my belief only veterans get PTSD since no one really talks about it except in reference to war. It made sense though. I was triggered by the littlest of things; the dogs barking, other dogs barking, seeing a dog that wasn’t Dublin, Finnea or Casla. I actually knew that if I didn’t engage with those 3 when I got home from the emergency room I wouldn’t be able to ever face them. Looking for a therapist that took our insurance was like trying to find a needle in a haystack. Needless to say it never happened. I wasn’t about to pay out of pocket when I hadn’t worked in over a year and we were barely keeping our heads above water. Plus the fact that I am an introvert. The thought of opening up to a stranger petrified me. How many sessions would I need to actually say something? How much would it really cost? What if I had a very judgmental therapist? Too many questions and anxious thoughts to deal with.

That’s when it hit me. There had to be an alternative type of therapy out there that people like me could use to heal. I searched countless words on google, but all that came up was equine therapy. Horses are a bit intimidating to me and these places are not cheap. I started researching other animals that may assist in getting people through a tough time. Goats! Goats were the obvious choice. That’s when the vision of Anchor ME Farm developed. We had to get out of Rhode Island.

Part 3 - Anchor in Maine

Luckily I have a very understanding husband who only wants the best for me. As it turns out his job has an office in Connecticut. We thought that could work. I could get the land to pursue my vision as well as start my bakery back up since they had cottage laws. We started the endless search of house hunting once again. I won’t go into all of the real estate drama (perhaps a book in the future). We sold the Rhode Island house and were going to stay with my parents once again for a few weeks or so until we closed on the house we found. It’s actually all a blur right now. I’m not sure if the inspection failure happened first on the house we put the offer on or if the pandemic was in full swing. I mean does it really matter?!

I know I could share so many tidbits of this story and it may be interesting, but it would definitely be so much longer. So let’s jump ahead and focus back on my hand.

I tried to get an appointment with a hand surgeon while I was in Vermont. Unfortunately it wasn’t meant to be. The next surgeon I saw was in Maine. Brian and I finally found a house and land in Maine now that he could work fully remote. We basically made an appointment a month after we moved in. If I was going to do all of the things I wanted to do I would need a better solution for the constant pain that was my right hand.

The second surgery happened in October - always in October. She has been the best doctor I have dealt with. She consulted with a board of surgeons on what the best plan would be to alleviate the pain. The plan was to totally remove the stump and place a plate in the hand to move the other fingers closer together. This would make the hand look a bit more normal and there would be no more stump to cause the pain and discomfort. Part of the problem was the finger was damaged right above the knuckle. I couldn’t bend it and not because I ditched out on OT, it just was not capable of doing so. It also hurt like a beast even if it was slightly touched. I have to say the best sleep I have gotten since my trauma was during these surgeries.

The surgery went well and I was on the road to recovery. Something you should know about me is that I’m a workaholic with no patience, so sitting around is not in my wheelhouse. I went through my kitchen inspection with a fully bandaged hand. I didn’t go into the injury, just reassured the inspector I will be good to go in a few weeks. I also thought without that pain I could conquer so much more; I put in fence posts for our future goats, mowed the lawn and started baking. I truly felt like Wonder Woman for a brief moment.

Just because my hand was improving didn’t mean my PTSD went away. I had and still do have some really hard days. Once we got the first ducks, chickens and goats I had a few less bad days. Even at my worst they brought a smile and calming effect on me. That’s why I fought my way to make this vision a reality. I knew it would be a fight since it’s a very unconventional idea to help people, but I believe in it.

Fast forward to today. With all the baking and animal chores my hand has not “aged well”. I am in constant pain every single day. When the weather changes it tends to increase the pain. About 3 or 4 times a week I experience phantom limb pain. Some may not say it’s a real thing, but let me assure you - it is. The finger that is not there is in such agony or it itches and I go to scratch something that is not there. That tends to trigger the memories all over again. I'm now seeing a new doctor and who knows if it will help. Right now the bakery is what keeps the non-profit afloat.

What will the future hold- I have no idea. It’s time to revamp the non-profit with a new name Anchor ME Harbor and to push the mission to help more people who are dealing with mental health issues and have nowhere else to turn to. I’m currently in school at Kennebec Valley Community College to receive my Mental Health Certification, so that I can help and advocate for people who need our services and to create better programs at this organization.