A Broken Finger

When you catch a football be sure to catch it with soft hands, and with your fingers not your palm.

My son told me to “Go long” so I ran and he threw. In my pathetic attempt to catch the football I put out my hand the way marathon runners low-five bystanders as they run past them. This was a stupid move. In fact, I’m pretty sure that move is listed under how NOT to catch a football.

An agonizing jolt pierced through my body. I knew in an instant my finger was broken. I just didn’t know what I was going to do about all the things I still needed to get done. Dinner was not yet prepared and piles of laundry were anticipating my consideration, but my finger started to throb as if it suddenly grew a heartbeat - everything other than the pain became irrelevant.  

My husband gave me a solid tip by suggesting I remove my wedding rings immediately. Good thing I did; within minutes my finger swelled up in a way that eating forty seven portions of pork lo mein would do. In the very brief moments of relief from the pain my mind wandered to things like, will I still be able to cook? Can I type with a broken finger? Can I still do do Orangetheory; then back to the pain.

The next morning I woke up with a finger that resembled the face of Rocky post round fifteen. It was black and blue with hints of yellow and green. The swelling had more than doubled the size of my finger. On my way to work I made a pit stop to get a professional opinion - the guy at Wawa said it definitely looked broken. I’m kidding!

The Urgent Care physician confirmed the break; a finger splint for 4-6 weeks. The pain should hopefully lessen with each day. I can still manage to do all things as usual with modifications and at a much slower pace. If I move too quickly I will cause unwelcome pain and further damage to my finger; so I’m on cruise control these past few days and I don’t seem to mind. Slowing down isn’t necessarily a bad thing. I’m sure we could all benefit from scaling back the rapid pace we’ve all become so accustom to.    

The night I broke my finger my husband made dinner and my kids helped out with the laundry. Everything got done as usual, perhaps we were all a little more mindful and maybe even a little more appreciative. Chess anyone?