lj typing school - extended gimpiness remix
The first question they usually ask when they first see the cast on my right hand is, "what happened to your hand?"
My first answer is "well, there's this tumor..." and that's usually good for a first reaction. Nothing like the potential for cancer to get someone's attention. "See, I've got this tumor..." is certainly a better opening line than "See, I was playing golf..." At least that means the follow up question will be, "are you going to be ok?" instead of "what were you doing playing golf?"
'Cos there I was on the 6th hole of a company golf tournament1, trying to line up a bad shot in a spring rainstorm. The rain made the handle of my golf club slippery, and as I swung it, the club slipped an inch from my hand and came down on hard turf. My right hand stung from the impact, and it must've looked bad because my teammates immediately asked if I was ok. I just gritted my teeth and said, "I ... don't know."
It felt like a sprain, and I thought I was going to be ok -- just needed some ice and rest. But I was worried by the way my hand felt when I drove home, when potholes and bumps in the road translated into daggers in my forearm. When it was still painful the following morning, I went to the hospital.
My doctor has this vaguely Central European accent, an easy smile and a small pompadour, which makes me think that he moonlights as a Polish Elvis impersonator. When he comes back with my x-rays he says, "congratulations! You've got a fracture! And as a bonus prize, there's a tumor in your hand, too." It almost feels like I won something.
"The tumor is benign," he said "It basically turned part of your finger to paste, and that's probably what lead to the fracture. You're going to need surgery." My mind translates that into, "so you mean this isn't going to heal tomorrow?"
My body's been spoiled over the last few years, playing eight years of rugby with hardly a broken bone to show for it, multiple cycling trips with only a few scars incurred from accidents and my own negligence -- injuries like fractures were foreign to me. What do you mean this won't just go away after a night's sleep? Can't I just take some aspirin? Can't I just hold it in place and watch the bones reattach? I can do that, right? At least, I thought I could.
But now I've had to get used to working without my right hand, my dominant hand. I have to pull out my ID at banks because I can't sign any forms. Putting on clothes can be Chaplin-esque and my one handed typing speed is slow. really. bloody. slow.
This doesn't mention the range of once mundane activities that are now impossible. My contacts go unused. My bike collects dust. My kitchen knives linger in their block. And my bandaged hand reaches for all of them, yearning.
The other activity I've had to get used to is the explanation. I went to chicago forConvergence 10, and the hand was the subject of conversation for pretty much every person I was introduced to. I got so tired of the looks of incredulity for saying "Well, I was playing golf a couple of days ago..." that I started embellishing just for the hell of it.
"I was playing golf a couple of days ago..."
"... and there was this baby crawling across the fairway and he was about to get hit by someone else's ball..."
"... and we were doing doughnuts with our golf carts ..."
"... and my opponent got so mad that he tried to bring his club down on my head, so I tried to catch it between the palms of my hands ..."
but in the end it was too much of a pain in the ass, so I just stuck to the truth.
"I've got this bunny with sharp pointy teeth..."
or rather I started leading with the tumor bit
"So, I've got this benign tumor on my right hand. Rather... I had this benign tumor."
I had the tumor extracted last week, the day after we got back from Convergence2. My doctor offered:
"you have three options, we can replace the tumor with bone protein in our lab, but honestly, the protein is kind of like spackle, and it doesn't heal well."
and yeah, thinking of one's hands getting, ahem, spackled like a grotty piece of plumbing isn't too appealing
"...or we can take some bone from your wrist, but that's not all that comfortable."
and I'd rather keep the number of broken bones down to one, thanks.
"... or we can use some bone cells we grew in the lab. It's kind of new, but it heals well ... so far."
nu-tech, please. Can I get the adamantium lacing while we're at it? That's covered by my insurance, right?
So, I've got this cast for the next three weeks, and I have to say while it isn't fun, the annoyance over my extended gimpiness has diminished. My left hand is adapting relatively well, and most of the original pain from surgery is gone. I'm in Vancouver now, with silentq for her sister's wedding, and I'm sure that's also helping my mood immensely.
1 - actually the best follow-up question to breaking my hand playing golf was "well, did you win at least?"
2 - because really if you're going to have surgery why not have it the day after a weekend long bender filled with alcohol and sleep deprivation
My first answer is "well, there's this tumor..." and that's usually good for a first reaction. Nothing like the potential for cancer to get someone's attention. "See, I've got this tumor..." is certainly a better opening line than "See, I was playing golf..." At least that means the follow up question will be, "are you going to be ok?" instead of "what were you doing playing golf?"
'Cos there I was on the 6th hole of a company golf tournament1, trying to line up a bad shot in a spring rainstorm. The rain made the handle of my golf club slippery, and as I swung it, the club slipped an inch from my hand and came down on hard turf. My right hand stung from the impact, and it must've looked bad because my teammates immediately asked if I was ok. I just gritted my teeth and said, "I ... don't know."
It felt like a sprain, and I thought I was going to be ok -- just needed some ice and rest. But I was worried by the way my hand felt when I drove home, when potholes and bumps in the road translated into daggers in my forearm. When it was still painful the following morning, I went to the hospital.
My doctor has this vaguely Central European accent, an easy smile and a small pompadour, which makes me think that he moonlights as a Polish Elvis impersonator. When he comes back with my x-rays he says, "congratulations! You've got a fracture! And as a bonus prize, there's a tumor in your hand, too." It almost feels like I won something.
"The tumor is benign," he said "It basically turned part of your finger to paste, and that's probably what lead to the fracture. You're going to need surgery." My mind translates that into, "so you mean this isn't going to heal tomorrow?"
My body's been spoiled over the last few years, playing eight years of rugby with hardly a broken bone to show for it, multiple cycling trips with only a few scars incurred from accidents and my own negligence -- injuries like fractures were foreign to me. What do you mean this won't just go away after a night's sleep? Can't I just take some aspirin? Can't I just hold it in place and watch the bones reattach? I can do that, right? At least, I thought I could.
But now I've had to get used to working without my right hand, my dominant hand. I have to pull out my ID at banks because I can't sign any forms. Putting on clothes can be Chaplin-esque and my one handed typing speed is slow. really. bloody. slow.
This doesn't mention the range of once mundane activities that are now impossible. My contacts go unused. My bike collects dust. My kitchen knives linger in their block. And my bandaged hand reaches for all of them, yearning.
The other activity I've had to get used to is the explanation. I went to chicago forConvergence 10, and the hand was the subject of conversation for pretty much every person I was introduced to. I got so tired of the looks of incredulity for saying "Well, I was playing golf a couple of days ago..." that I started embellishing just for the hell of it.
"I was playing golf a couple of days ago..."
"... and there was this baby crawling across the fairway and he was about to get hit by someone else's ball..."
"... and we were doing doughnuts with our golf carts ..."
"... and my opponent got so mad that he tried to bring his club down on my head, so I tried to catch it between the palms of my hands ..."
but in the end it was too much of a pain in the ass, so I just stuck to the truth.
"I've got this bunny with sharp pointy teeth..."
or rather I started leading with the tumor bit
"So, I've got this benign tumor on my right hand. Rather... I had this benign tumor."
I had the tumor extracted last week, the day after we got back from Convergence2. My doctor offered:
"you have three options, we can replace the tumor with bone protein in our lab, but honestly, the protein is kind of like spackle, and it doesn't heal well."
and yeah, thinking of one's hands getting, ahem, spackled like a grotty piece of plumbing isn't too appealing
"...or we can take some bone from your wrist, but that's not all that comfortable."
and I'd rather keep the number of broken bones down to one, thanks.
"... or we can use some bone cells we grew in the lab. It's kind of new, but it heals well ... so far."
nu-tech, please. Can I get the adamantium lacing while we're at it? That's covered by my insurance, right?
So, I've got this cast for the next three weeks, and I have to say while it isn't fun, the annoyance over my extended gimpiness has diminished. My left hand is adapting relatively well, and most of the original pain from surgery is gone. I'm in Vancouver now, with silentq for her sister's wedding, and I'm sure that's also helping my mood immensely.
1 - actually the best follow-up question to breaking my hand playing golf was "well, did you win at least?"
2 - because really if you're going to have surgery why not have it the day after a weekend long bender filled with alcohol and sleep deprivation