By Jamie Ingle, Belleville News-Democrat, August 20, 2006

Five.

Pink.

Warm.

Those three words mattered most when Dorman Bazzell, 45, awoke after a 10-hour surgery to reattach his severed left hand.

"I got my hand back," recalled Dorman of his relief at seeing his reattached left hand propped next to his body last May.

All four fingers and the thumb were there, the flesh was pink, and the hand was warm -- all indicators of blood circulation.

Seeing the hand in place, Dorman, who grew up in Millstadt, groggily looked up to see his wife Joy, 50, and daughter Abbie, 20, in the hospital room at Barnes-Jewish Hospital in St. Louis.

Abbie -- once the litte girl Dorman helped with her homework and brought M&Ms when she was sick -- is now a young woman who saved his hand -- and his life.

The accident

About 10 a.m. on May 19, Dorman was cutting wood in their Ballwin, Mo., garage with his circular saw.

"We were remodeling a bathroom," he said, massaging his left hand with his right fingers as he told the story. Red incision lines show his surgeon''s handiwork.

The computer consultant, who moved to Ballwin from O''Fallon 2 1/2 years ago, said he had completed other home remodeling projects and had used the saw for years without problems.

But that morning, life as he knew it, changed.

He guided the saw with his right hand, cutting away from his body. His left hand followed beside the saw, safely away from the blade -- or so he thought.

"The saw kicked back. It caught the edge of the wood and shot forward," Dorman said.

His body pitched forward with the impact and, somehow, his left hand got in the path of the saw blade.

"It was surreal. I could see my hand (laying) three feet away. Immediately, I didn''t experience pain, but I grabbed my arm to stop the blood flow," said Dorman.

The saw had severed the hand just above his left wrist, slicing through tendons, bone and tiny vessels.

He needed help.

Joy, a real estate agent, had gone to work and younger daughter Emma, 10, was at school. Son Aaron, 24 is married and stationed with the U.S. Air Force in Oklahoma.

The only one home was Abbie, a nursing student who had just finished final exams at Maryville University in St. Louis. She was sleeping in.

Quick thinking

She awoke to horrific screaming.

"It was awful. Haunting. Like nothing I had ever heard before," said Abbie.

She jumped out of bed and ran down the stairs of the family''s split-level home to the foyer.

There was Dorman holding his bloody arm.

Time was critical.

Abby knew what to do. That semester, she had seen a video about how to use a tourniquet.

"Right away, I went into ''nurse mode.'' I grabbed Mom''s belt to make a tourniquet. He was already holding (the injured arm) so tight his (right) hand was turning white."

She made her father lie down and elevate his legs to reduce the blood flow.

She called 911 and listened carefully as the dispatcher told her how to preserve the severed hand.

She ripped a pan of ice from the freezer and got towels and a plastic bag. Putting live tissue on ice prolongs its life.

"I screamed, ''Dad, I need your hand,''" said Abbie.

For a second, she felt powerless.

"I could not go in the garage to get it. I was too emotional."

Dorman got up, the tourniquet tight around his left arm, and headed for the garage.

"I reached out to grab it. I had to get that hand. It was rubbery like a fake hand, not grotesque," said Dorman.

Abbie was ready, towel in hand. She sealed the hand in a plastic bag, and tried to keep Dorman calm while waiting impatiently for the ambulance.

"It was probably like three minutes, but it felt like forever," said Abbie, who called her mom after she got off the phone with the dispatcher.

As the ambulance pulled up to their house, so did Joy.

"Abbie kept saying ''Dad cut his arm off,'' but I didn''t think it could be that bad," said Joy. "I knew if I started to panic, I wouldn''t be composed enough to help Abbie."

A race against time

The ambulance sped 24 miles toward Barnes-Jewish Hospital in St. Louis, with Joy and Abbie in a car behind it.

"We must have been cranking pretty good to get there because, from what I''ve been told, I was in surgery by 10:45 or 11," said Dorman.

By that time, Dorman''s left arm felt as if it were on fire.

"It was a burning sensation, what they told me were phantom pains. It burned where my hand should have been," said Dorman.

His nerve endings were in overdrive by the time he reached the emergency room.

"A team of people started working on me immediately and hit me with a barrage of questions," said Dorman.

He remembers only intense pain.

"I remember yelling and hearing someone say, ''Can''t we get this man something for the pain?''"

A nurse calmed him.

"She got right in my face, and started talking to me. I found out her name was Chris and she was from Dr. (Keith) Brandt''s office. I could feel my heart rate start to go down."

Dorman was more worried about his family than himself.

"I knew I was going to be out for a few hours, but I was worried about my wife and daughters. I wanted them to know that I was OK."

Re-attachment surgery

Dorman entered surgery with Dr. Brandt at the helm. Joy, Abbie and Dorman''s parents, Dorman Sr. and Laura of Millstadt, waited nervously outside.

"We treat more severed fingers. The total hand, we see less than once a year." said Brandt who has successfully re-attached three other hands in his medical career. He is a plastic and reconstructive surgeon at Barnes-Jewish and Washington University School of Medicine.

Joy spoke with Brandt, who said he would do all he could to restore the hand.

"We knew he was going to live, but we didn''t know about the hand," said Joy."I told (Brandt) I''d rather have him have a prosthetic hand he could use, than a hand that was just there."

They all prayed.

"We didn''t know if he was going to come out with a hand or stub," said Dorman Sr.Brandt repaired 24 tendons in Dorman''s hand.

"With the total hand being severed, you have nerve damage and damage to bones, tendons and arteries," said Brandt.

Much of the surgery was performed under a microscope, as the doctor also had to reattach tiny veins and arteries. Most are the width of the clicker at the top of a retractable pen.

The saw had also cut into a tendon in Dorman''s thumb.

For Brandt, helping to assemble all the medical teams before the surgery was more stressful than repairing the hand.

"It''s all hands on deck with everyone in the ER, the nursing team, the anesthesia team and getting the operating room ready."

The Bazzells breathed a sigh of relief 10 hours later when Brandt said he had successfully reattached Dorman''s left hand.

But they knew it was just the beginning of a long, difficult road to recovery.

Hard work begins

Dorman meets weekly with occupational therapist Stacie Luter at the Milliken Hand Center at Barnes.

Each session lasts 60 to 90 minutes. Stacie checks his range of motion, and Dorman practices hand-strengthening exercises. She also fits him for splints which help keep his fingers straight.

"Let''s see what''s in your bag of tricks, Dorman," said Stacie as he unzipped a small duffle bag with his right hand.

He removed a small grip strengthener with his right hand and placed it in his left.

"This is set for ten pounds of tension," said Dorman, pointing to red rubber tension bands. He slowly pulled the trigger-like handle toward him with his left fingers.

Stacie smiled, then asked Dorman for "the rack," a splint that keeps his fingers straight while he sleeps.

"We want suppleness, for you to be able to bend and straighten your fingers," explained Stacie as she measured his had for a new splint that will fit on the back of his hand.

"It''s the only way I would let another woman hold his hand," joked Joy, there to watch Dorman''s progress.

He''ll be able to curl his fingers while the splint supports the back of his hand.

"You rock, Stacie," Dorman said, as the two bumped right fists.

Dorman likes being active. The splint will keep his hand in place and prevent unnecessary jarring while he jogs.

Stacie admires his determination.

"If I tell him to do 15 (repetitions) he''ll do 30."

Dorman learned how to tie his shoes, using his right hand to cross the laces and his left hand to hold the loop in place.

"Once I figured out how to tie my shoes, I knew I could do anything," he said. His mother isn''t surprised.

"He accepted what he has to do and he does it. That''s just Dorman," said Laura.

Dorman Sr. has yet to see Dorman reveal any kind of frustration.

"He gets it from me," said Dorman Sr. "It does no good to get mad. We keep our cool. Life goes on."

Dorman won''t be satisfied until he''s back riding his bike and playing his guitar. A fan of Led Zeppelin, Dorman has tried playing since his surgery.

He used to finger chords with his left hand and strum with his right hand. Now, his left hand can''t make a lot of the fine movements, so Dorman has switched hands.

"He''s very ingenious," said Stacie.

And determined.

Living with uncertainty

Dorman started driving again two months after the accident, but the bathroom remodeling project is on hold.

He is on disability leave from his job but plans to return to work as soon as possible after a second surgery in September. He hopes to be able to type again with his left hand.He exercises his hand daily and uses it to pick up large items such as cups and plates when he unloads the dishwasher. He also practices strumming his guitar.

Brandt won''t predict how much feeling and function Dorman will regain.

"When you''ve severed all 24 tendons, you don''t know," he said.

Not knowing is unsettling for Joy.

"The doctors and therapists will say, ''Let''s try this,'' but they don''t know what will work," she said.

Dorman wants to stay positive. Stacie pricked his hand in several places but Dorman couldn''t feel it. A major nerve is unable to relay feeling messages from the brain to the hand.

"There''s no nerve growth," said Dorman matter-of-factly. "So, I need the nerve graft."

A CT scan at Barnes showed no new bone growth in the hand.

"And I''ll have the bone surgery," said Dorman.

Joy knows when to rein him in.

"Let''s just see what Dr. Brandt says," she warned.

Brandt will decide what to do. He may take a healthy nerve from Dorman''s leg, cut it into smaller segments and make a nerve bundle for Dorman''s arm. The nerve may help relay brain information.

Brandt said he''ll likely encourage bone growth by placing a putty-like substance on a piece of scaffolding between existing bones.

"His bone cells can repopulate with existing cells," said Brandt.

Another procedure would remove scar tissue from tendons.

Dorman won''t let go of his goals.

"A year from now I''ll be riding my bike, playing my guitar, doing all the things I used to do. Just watch me."

He also wants to volunteer at the Milliken Hand Rehabilitation Center, counseling hand injury patients about what to expect post surgery and during rehabilitation.

Angels at work

A sign outside the Bazzells'' front door reads "Angels walk among us."

Joy doesn''t doubt that because all of Dorman''s helpers were in place that day in May.

"Somehow," Joy said, "there was a plan in all this."

Abbie wants to help her dad. After all, he''s the one who taught her to be independent.

One of Dad''s No. 1 rules?

"Never, ever, ever let a guy bring me down," said Abbie.

And how could she be down after Dorman bought her a silver pendant that reads "My gentle healer."

"I loved it," Abbie said when he gave it to her. "I just cried."

Abbie now works part-time at Barnes as a nursing assistant, checking patients'' vital signs and changing bedding. Dorman said nurses were so impressed with her quick thinking during his crisis that the hospital offered her the job.

Abby hopes to take it one step further after she earns her nursing degree.

"I want to be a surgeon," she said.

That would make Dad happy. But meanwhile, Dorman takes nothing for granted these days, especially his warm, pink fingers and thumb.

"After the accident, I''d look in the mirror and see an old man. Now I look in the mirror and that''s not who I see anymore."