The worst part after I broke my wrist was being in urgent care when the medical staff realized that they needed to take off my wedding ring before my finger swelled impossibly. It was already a tight fit.
They feared for the ring.
“Just cut it off,” I said.
“Just cut it off,” Sam said (the one who I am bonded to by said ring)
I was willing, in that moment, to part with it easily, a symbol of love, an object. Just don’t let it be painful, I thought. I was in a lot of pain and thinking about how it is for the animals at Pasado’s when they are in pain and we are moving around them trying to figure out how best to help without causing them pain, but maybe we must cause them pain and even certainly intend to by giving them vaccines and drawing blood.
They feared for the ring.
“Just cut it off,” I said.
“Just cut it off,” Sam said (the one who I am bonded to by said ring)
I was willing, in that moment, to part with it easily, a symbol of love, an object. Just don’t let it be painful, I thought. I was in a lot of pain and thinking about how it is for the animals at Pasado’s when they are in pain and we are moving around them trying to figure out how best to help without causing them pain, but maybe we must cause them pain and even certainly intend to by giving them vaccines and drawing blood.
All I wanted when I was in pain was for no one to get close to my injured limb and bump it. Just stop moving, I thought. But I knew that they must. In fact, I had come to these people, voluntarily, for some kind of helpful busyness.
The ring would not be cut off. They tried a couple of different ways.
"What is this made of?" they asked repeatedly.
“Gold. Gold,” I said, thinking it's the softest metal. Easily cut. But, clearly, it wasn’t gold or very much so, because it was not soft and firmly resisted severing with all of its molecules. They couldn’t cut it.
“Gold. Gold,” I said, thinking it's the softest metal. Easily cut. But, clearly, it wasn’t gold or very much so, because it was not soft and firmly resisted severing with all of its molecules. They couldn’t cut it.
“This bad boy," the technician said, the one who was called in specially because he'd done some trick of ring-cutting off in the past.
Be careful if you wear a ring of platinum or tungsten, I learned, because if you ever injure your hand, it won’t come off. Go to the emergency room, I learned, if you are ever in this situation yourself, because they have better ring-cutting off equipment there. This a reality never shown in ring commercials.
"Do you want to go to the emergency room?" the very caring and very concerned nurse asked.
No. I did not want to move at all. Help, I thought, my broken hand, the one that when I looked down after the sudden fall I could see was very badly broken with just my eyes, no x-rays required. And then I had had to sit down on the concrete floor for fear of fainting. I did not care about the ring, which had suddenly become such a focus of activity, at all.
Then, the nurse, bravely, tried to pull the ring off as I might have done, but could not do now. And had not done, much, if ever, in 25 years since I had put the symbol on. No need.
Miraculously, I could feel the ring beginning to come off, with some pain, but tolerable and it was sliding, and I, knowing how she was trying and how it mattered now to everyone around gathered in this room, encouraged her, “It’s OK. It is working. Keep going.”
"Keep going!"
I knew she was trying to help and was trying to prevent a problem and trying not to cause pain. I thought how easy it might have been to growl, howl, snap, or snarl at this treatment. Instead, I was a shut down dog. Scared, but compliant. Also, as a human, I knew what was happening. Although, I could not bear to look at the hand again or the finger where the ring was stuck.
The ring came off!
It remained an intact circle with just a couple of scores in it, a bit worse for wear. 
I missed it when my wrist was bandaged after surgery.
Being told there must be surgery was the second worst part of breaking my wrist bones. I was afraid, and cried. The last time I had had surgery was after I was hit by a car, a traumatic memory.
The surgery went fine. I was OK. Stoic. Shut down dog. It must be done. No fighting. Compliant. Resigned.
Afterwards, I wore the ring around my neck for awhile, comforting, but a bit in the way. Then, weeks later my wrist moved again, but stiffly. I could take the splint off sometimes. I was amazed again at my healing factor. A superpower. A bit of magic, really.
I pondered whether to put the ring back on, knowing now the danger, the inherent risk of wearing such a thing which I, experienced now, would not forget. A bit small. Difficult to take off. Just a symbol. Scarred. Should I get it resized? A new one? Unthinkable. One ring to rule them all, I thought, because how could you not, looking at a gold circle like that and being so enthralled.
I put the ring back on.
Sam and I have been married for 25 years. Half my life with Sam. Utterly delightful. Worth all of the risks.
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