Walking up to the front door, I heard crying, screaming and lots of commotion and there was my son with a small towel wrapped around his little hand and blood everywhere.
My husband and I scooped up our son, got in our car and sped to the Cupertino Emergency Clinic where they led us right in to an examining room. Our doctor was not in that day so we were seen by a tall, blond, soft spoken doctor we'd had never seen before. He administered phenolbarbitol to our son and we could hear him talking softly to our son as he lay on the examination bed. We heard our little guy ask "Am I going to lose my finger?" "Is my finger all gone?", and our hearts just broke. The doctor told him he was not going to lose his finger, but that he needed something in order to fix it. The doctor came out to the hallway where my husband and I were standing, watching him. He asked that one of us go home and find the missing finger tip and bring it back to him so that he might sew it back on. WHAT? Missing finger?! We were panicked. I called home and, as it turned out, the finger piece had been already placed into a small bag of ice and water so my husband drove home to retrieve it and brought it back to the clinic.
The doctor explained to me that he just so happened to have a "finger kit" with him that he could use to stitch the finger tip back on, but he gave no guarantee that it would "take". My son never made a sound the whole time the doctor was sewing his finger tip back on and wrapping up his little finger and hand. Softly speaking to him and rubbing the perspiration off our son's forehead. We knew he was a wonderful doctor and hoped he had joined the clinic permanently.
We made an appointment to bring our son back in 7 days to have his finger checked. When we returned to the Clinic a week later, the clinic staff had no record of our previous visit, they had never heard of the doctor we described to them and advised us that the clinic would never have undergone such an intricate procedure, that they would have referred us to the hospital for the finger procedure, and, they did not have access to phenolbarbitol.
We were unable to ever locate the "doctor" who saved our son's finger. But he looked like a tall, golden Angel. This is a true story. It happened in 1980, when we lived in Santa Clara, CA.