How I cut off my finger.

My birth dad was a prolific waterskier. And he was very generous with his boat – if it meant he got to take a lap around the lake while they were out on the water.

On one particular skiing trip, my parents were out on the lake with some friends and my sisters were babysitting us.

In our kitchen we had the “knife drawer.” I don’t know if every family has a knife drawer, but everywhere I’ve ever lived we’ve had one.

Anyway, in our knife drawer most of the knives were just loose to rattle around, blades exposed, anytime the drawer was open. However, there was one knife that was very sharp. So sharp that it had a little paper/cardboard sheath that it lived in.

On this day, with my parents skiing and Malissa and Amanda in charge of watching us younger kids, I was about four years old. And I loved to mess with the super sharp knife in the sheath. I’d slide it in and out of the case. Shwip. Shwip. Shwip. Most of the time when I was playing with this knife my mom would catch me and make me put it away. This time, the cat was away, so the mouse could play.

And I played one too many times. While I was sliding the knife out of its case, it cut through the sheath and through my left pinkie finger. I remember seeing blood and bone. I remember screaming. I have always identified with the description of getting stabbed or shot as being a “white hot” pain, because that’s what I remember that moment feeling like.

My sisters discovered me, bloody pinkie and all, and put a washcloth over the would and ran cold water over it. I don’t know how long this took place for. I remember them bribing me to calm down by offering me as much ice cream as I wanted. (My parents had 16 kids between them, so we always had a 10 gallon carton of ice cream in the freezer.)

This was pre-cell phone, so my sisters couldn’t call my parents for help. And even if they could, the lake was 30 minutes away and they still would have had to pull the boat out of the lake and come home. By the way, my grandparents lived about 3 minutes away, but I don’t know why they didn’t get called…

Eventually the blood stopped and the washcloth was replaced and I went to the couch and held ice on the washcloth while watching a movie.

At some point my parents must have come home. I don’t remember going to the doctor – again, I was four, so some of the memories are fuzzy.

I cut my finger off when I was four. I never regained sensation in anything past my first knuckle on my left pinkie. I can’t bend it. When I go rock climbing it stands straight out like a Victorian lady holding a cup of tea. I never learned to play the piano or the guitar, despite trying, because that finger doesn’t bend. When I ball up my fist, my other three fingers curl and that one lies flat like a limp fish.

I cut my finger off when I was four.

And then something weird happened about 18 months ago. I hit my left pinkie on the edge of the couch and broke it. Past the part where I cut it off. I haven’t had sensation in that part of that finger in decades – but it hurt. A lot.

And I started to examine that finger in a way that I hadn’t in years. I can see the scar on the underside of that finger, but it stops about halfway around the side.

And I started asking questions: Did the plastic surgeon only fix one side of my finger to look nice? If the doctor had to reattach my finger, why didn’t they reattach any of the nerves so that I could use it regularly? Did I even cut my finger off? If I didn’t cut my finger off, then why do I remember cutting it off?

I had a bit of an existential crisis. And I don’t have much of a relationship with my birth family, so I can’t even ask anyone involved what really happened.

Am I part of the “reattached body part club” or am I part of the “lying about a reattached body part club”?

My two truths and one lie answer always involved cutting off my finger when I was four. What interesting factoid that’s true but sounds false am I supposed to use now?

Ultimately, I think that I must not have actually cut it off, but the question still remains – why do I remember cutting off my finger?

Why can’t we trust our memories?

Our memories aren’t like digital recordings; rather, they are dynamic, reconstructive processes. Each time we remember something, our brains “rebuild” that memory using stored pieces, and this process can accidentally make mistakes. Here are some key factors that contribute to the formation of false memories:

1. Reconstructive Nature of Memory

When we remember something, our brain doesn’t retrieve a perfect snapshot of the past. Instead, it pieces together bits of information from various sources, including our expectations, prior knowledge, and even our current mood. This means that each time we remember something, the memory can change slightly—sometimes including details that weren’t part of what actually happened.

2. The Misinformation Effect

The misinformation effect occurs when a person’s memory of an event becomes distorted by misleading post-event information. For example, if someone is exposed to inaccurate details after witnessing an event (even something as subtle as a differently phrased question), those details can merge with the original memory, creating a false recollection. This is why eyewitness testimony in a trial is historically unreliable – even though jurors love it.

3. Role of Schemas

Our brains use schemas—mental frameworks that help us organize and interpret information—to fill in gaps when details are missing. While schemas are useful for making sense of our experiences, they can also lead to errors when they “fill in” details based on assumptions rather than actual events. This can result in memories that feel coherent and complete but contain inaccuracies.

4. Memory Consolidation and Reconsolidation

Every time a memory is retrieved, it becomes malleable and subject to change during the reconsolidation process. This means that the act of remembering itself can open the door for new information (or misinterpretations) to be incorporated into the memory, sometimes permanently altering it.

5. Neurological Underpinnings

Research has shown that similar brain regions—such as the hippocampus and prefrontal cortex—are active when recalling both true and false memories. This overlap makes it difficult for the brain to distinguish between real and fabricated details, which is why false memories can sometimes feel as vivid and authentic as true ones.

Why does this matter?

You might be asking: “why should we care about any of this neuro-biological crap, anyway? I have a great memory and definitely don’t remember any made up stories.” Or, you might be thinking: “Dude, I have a terrible memory, so this doesn’t really matter for me. I can’t even remember what I had for breakfast.”

But the truth is that this matters for everyone.

The world as you see it is filtered through your life experience, your values, your mood, etc… What that means is when you form a memory, you see it as only you can. When I form a memory, I see it as only I can. When Kevin from the office (who is a real jerk by the way) forms a memory, he does it as only a jerkface like him can.

Then we remember it. And we remember it differently than when it happened. We’re probably close, but maybe just 1% off. You stack enough 1%’s together and the story in your head – that feels 100% true to you – is not even close to what happened, and definitely different than what Kevin would say happened.

So, just remember. When you are about to pick a fight with your sister about something that happened when you were kids or with Kevin at the office about the meeting you had yesterday – just remember that for 30 years I “knew” I had cut my finger off, but I don’t think it ever really happened.

I hope that you have a wonderful day whenever you are reading this. If you were entertained or learned something, I’d love for you to leave your thoughts in the comments or to share this post with someone that you think might benefit.

And as always,

It’s gonna be great!

Drew