This scar hid a living being, a part of me that I live with every day.

I had gone through most of my life wondering what it was that was sitting like double-wad of Bubble Yum on the ball of my thumb. It shifted to every part of my hand uncontrollably and it was hard. it would move to my wrist from my palm, and i could not wear a watch, jewelery, or one of those cool medical bracelets the other kids ordered in sixth grade. You can see here it had moved to my wrist

It was hard and fibrous, and often resisted any attempts I made at made grabbing things by moving to my palm-- it was like it was pushing back on the things i tried to hold, to grasp, and made clenching my fist an oddity -- like I had an extra knuckle on my hand that moved where it wanted to.

Girls thought I was a freak and would not hold my hand. I couldn't play sports, except boxing, and then it didn't even feel like i was the one punching.

I went to a hand specialist at the Mayo Clinic who told me that at some point I had ruptured a sheath that surrounded a tendon, and in that sheath there is lubricant-- and that this lubricant had started to collect in the sheath as a big sack like a water balloon, and this was what was responsible for the big hard wad on the inside of my hand.

On the appointed day of February 14, 2001, I went to the hand clinic where the doctor froze part of my hand and stuck a huge hypodermic needle into my bulge to withdraw the fluid. It didn't work. He kept sticking the big irrigation syringe into my bump and trying to withdraw the fluid, but nothing would come. He kept missing and I was bleeding out of puncture wounds all over my hand. . . oddly in what like looked like a connect-the-dots heart.

I asked the specialist what was going on, and he said he would refer me, and get an ultrasound. He thought I might have a fibroma-- I asked what that was; he told me nerve fiber, and not to worry, but sometimes that can mean cancer. I was just supposed to keep an eye on it, and if it started growing, I should come back quickly. I was convinced it was an insect larvae quite honestly.

I was not able to get the ultrasound that summer as I was chosen by the government for a scholarship from Fulbright to teach research methods in Norway for a year. I noticed in my time there that it was getting harder to ride my bike, even with winter gloves on. That my grasp on life was slipping.

When I finally came back and was able to get the ultrasound, I was very nervous. i had had plenty of time to think about cancer and fibromas, insects, and even Sigourney Weaver. All that kind of terrible stuff, and here I was going to see. I knew if there was blood flow in the fibroma, it was a bad sign.



I could hardly look at what they were showing on the screen, I could see that there was blood pumping through it. This was really bad I thought. They told me to sit back, gave me a shot that wacked me, and did not tell me anything more except that they were calling Dr. Fleisch, their top guy, as well as a group of other specialists in to consult on this. All of a sudden I was a super star medical oddity . . . eventually i came to find there was a heart beat in my hand, and that was why the tech was freaked. I asked for another shot.

Evidently I had had a twin and there he was balled up under my thumb, right on my tendon.



It was he who had kept me from grasping and making a fist, pushing open doors, and being able to take a real handful of candy at halloween. He had kept from me what I needed.

With a little man in my thumb it made sense finally. I had always wondered if my tendency to punch uncontrollably was an excuse for poor anger management, but now I knew that it was my twin.


He still lashes out although his fists are much smaller and do not control mine.


I named him Malcolm after they removed him from my thumb the next morning. They had a full team of neo-natal specialists, hand specialists, and anybody else who though they had credentials to take in the spectacle.

They put me on a gurney, and ironically the anesthesiologist was the father of Nate Trusty, one of my younger brother's friends i had taken to a Grateful Dead show at Alpine Valley -- he had had a bad acid experience on my watch. I wondered if this was the get-even for bringing his acid-washed kid back.

They gave me a Sharpie and made me mark the hand and sign where the bump/Malcolm was, and Dr. Trusty anesthetized me.

Malcom was delivered from my hand, July 4th, 2002 in a special surgical arena that was full of residents in the bleachers behind the surgery viewing window in what could only be described as a circus. When i awoke, There he was, a little me, and oddly also 36 years old, with a bad attitude and difficult to shop for.

I no longer punch people without my volition, but now I have a little man that goes with me everywhere riding shotgun in my lapel.