The Axe-a-dent

It was a beautiful Saturday afternoon. Sunny. Warm. The tail end of fall, a glorious day to get some outside work done. 

I grabbed my axe, chainsaw and my gear. I had it drilled into my head, safety first. Helmet, gloves, steel toed boots, safety jacket and pants. From my head to my feet, I was pretty much chainsaw proof. 

 I whistled and Belle trotted over.. We headed back into the bush to take care of some fallen trees. 
----------------
I lifted half of the split log back on the chopping block. I could feel the weight of the heavy log, the smooth texture of the bark against my hands as I shifted it into place. The sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden light through the last remaining golden leaves on the trees. 

Belle sat by my side, her eyes still bright always watching me. She was good company. 
I adjusted my grip on the axe, taking a deep breath. The scent of fall was in the air, a perfect reminder of why I loved these days. It was work, yes, but it felt good, grounded—connecting with this land. Today's work would bring tomorrow's pleasure. My goal was plenty of firewood for the sauna. 
I raised the axe high over my head,  and brought it down. Thwack. The edge bit deep into the wood, splitting the log cleanly in two. A feeling of satisfaction washed over me, but there was more to do. The pile of logs was growing, and Belle, tail wagging, seemed to be as eager to keep going as I was.
 "Alright, girl, let's get the next one."
Belle went on ahead.  As we worked, the world seemed to slow down. Just the rhythmic sound of the chainsaw, the crack of the axe, and the occasional rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze. This was the good life.
—--------------------------
The axe soared through the air, its edge cutting nothing but the empty space above the log. For a split second, everything was still. I felt the weight of the missed swing, the momentum carrying the axe just out of reach. The log wobbled again, unstable on the block, mocking my failed strike.
I exhaled sharply, frustration building. The sun, warm on my neck, reminded me that the day was slipping by. I steadied myself, took a breath, and adjusted my stance. The axe, heavy in my hands, felt almost foreign now. I focused on the log, willing it to stay still.
The second swing was more controlled, more focused. This time, the blade connected. But without the satisfying crack. The log stood tall. I watched, momentarily confused. 
Belle stood watching from the side. Her eyes wide. Tail dropped. 
I looked down at the axe. The blade had bit into my skin. Crimson began to rise around a neat white slice deep in my skin. Blood began to spray. 
Belle’s eyes went wide, her body tense, her ears flat against her head. She backed away slowly, her gaze fixed on me with a mix of confusion and concern. Everything went quiet. .
I felt a wave of dizziness wash up over me. The ground had tilted beneath me, or maybe I was just losing grip on everything. My breath came shallow, my chest tight as the woods seemed to spin in slow motion. A cold sweat broke out across my forehead. 
I could see Belle, still watching me, but everything around her seemed distant. My arms felt heavy, my vision narrowing as I tried to focus on anything—on something—but the world slipped further out of reach.
______________
I woke up in a haze, disoriented, the bright hospital lights overhead blurring my vision. Slowly, the throbbing pain in my hand brought me back to reality. I looked down to see it wrapped in thick bandages, swollen and aching with every pulse.
My mind raced, trying to piece together what had happened. I tried to move my fingers, but they were unresponsive. A wave of panic hit me. I’m a teacher. I need these fingers for teaching grade three math. Without them, how could I write on the board, help my students, do the simple things I’d always taken for granted?
A tight knot formed in my chest, and I struggled to keep the fear from taking over. 
A nurse entered, offering a comforting smile."You're lucky," she said. "It could have been worse." I nodded weakly, the weight of it all settling in as I stared at my hand. The nurse smiled softly,. "Yes, you can still teach Math," she said with a chuckle. "You can still count to ten."