Sunday, April 5, 2009

The Club hand comes seperately.

Typing with a broken right hand is, to say the least, interesting and complex. I have my hand rotated at a 60 degree angle to maximize the reach of my 3 movable fingers. Bless you Thumb, pointer, and middle finger.

Maybe this is a good thing. Recently, I have found myself typing faster than I can think. This recent injury has forced me to slow down, and is forcing me to find some new level of harmony between my typing fingers. I have been typing rediculously fast since my early teenager years, and now I'm at the point where I don't even have to look at the keyboard to know where the keys are. I can type sentences while looking at something else. Except for now. Now, I feel crippled, but like every other challenge in my life, I will get over it, better, faster, stronger.

Now, you may be wondering how I got a "Boxer's Fracture." It's self inflicted, unintentionally mind you. It was the release of everything that's happened recently. That moment there was the zenith. Everything will be downhill from now, I can feel it. I just have to remember that hills have dips and plateaus...

The hand. Yes. How was it injured? How did I unintentionally break it myself? Over a handfull of people have asked me that today, and I have more or less been reinacting Heath Ledger's joker. Everytime the story is different, from actually boxing to just "being as awesome as Chuck Norris. So awesome, my hand couldn't take it anymore." What really happened though, I punched a solid metal door, and those don't give way much. In fact, they give as much as Scrooge McDuck.

So, I broke my hand, at work, around 8PM. Scrambled to find some place open that was not a hospital in the hopes for a temporary fix so I could keep working. That's me, willing to sacrifice myself for pretty much anything else. Until I took a good look at my hand and realized I had not, as originally thought, simply dislocated the finger. I go back, call in a replacement. I will send his wife flowers because I disturbed their lovely evening. I begin to drive in the general direction of where I think Parkland Hospital is. I frantically try and call my friend Josh, who's parents work at Parkland part time. No answer, just my luck. I call my dad and ask, where he tells me its at "Mockingbird and Inwood." I head in that direction. No dice. I begin to panic. My mind is only more cold and calculating when I panic luckily, so I call the first person I think of who could have near instant access to Josh, Nathan. He answers his phone almost immediately. I try and hide the fact that I can barely talk because turning the wheel of a car with a broken metacarpal bone is rather excruciating. He proceeds to tell me that Josh is as home, but he will check on AIM to see if he's available. Sure enough, I finally get in touch with Josh, and he directs me there, though I had to make the most painful U-turn in my life to do so. I walk in to the security station at 915 or so, exhausted and wishing it all would end. The security officer asks me my business in the hospital. I place my hand on the counter and say, "Well good sir, it appears as though I have broken my hand, and I am seeking a solution." He doesn't smile, or acknowledge anything, merely asks for my I.D. and gives me an emergency pass. I head towards the elevators, down sterile hallways, past beeping machines. I take an elevator down to the G level. I see the check in desk, and head over to the booth. A man looks up and asks me what's wrong. "Umm, I believe a broken hand." He begins to look up skeptically until he sees that part of my 5th metacarpal is at a 30 degree angle. "Oh! Umm, this way." He takes me down to the emergency check in, apparently I'm special. The lady behind that booth looks at me, and asks me a series of questions. I try and stay light and chipper. Then, the inevitable, "What happened?" I think I said something about punching a wall out of anger, the truth is best for this situation. I then made a joke about it, but it has since slipped my mind. She gives me a ticket, tells me to sit down and try to relax, and that someone will be with me shortly. Its probably 9:30PM when I sit down. Little did I know that I would still be at that hospital over 10 hours later...

Apologies for the split post about the same topic, I realized that I would be typing for hours if I told the whole story tonight, plus, I need my rest right now. Again, apologies.

Currently listening to... Art of Noise - Seduction of Claude Debussey. My favorite album of all time.

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