Single Handed
I love racquetball. It is like crack, only far cheaper, and better for your body.
Apparently, I am kind of an aggressive racquetball player: last Wednesday night about twenty minutes into a game, I was going after a shot, tripped over my husband, and tumbled hard onto the floor. I could tell that it was a big fall as soon as it happened, but then I looked at my hand. My left pinky was jutting out in a couple of wrong directions, and blood was coming from somewhere along the lateral side of my hand. D grabbed all our stuff, we ran to the car, and I spent the next few hours in the local ER.
An hour and a half, folks. That's how long it took for the on call orthopedic doctor and the nurse with the drugs to come by. Which is actually faster than I would have thought since I wasn't dying, but I think they should just inject everyone sporting weird bone angles with Demerol immediately when you walk in--everyone would be so much happier, and that would be nice, wouldn't it? The doc was friendly, but way too informative: I didn't need to hear the words scalpel, crunchy, straighten, "the thicker needle," or surgery until after the drugs started to work. And I told him so. Three stitches, lots of shots, two IV's, a completely ghetto splint of plaster and gauze, the name of a hand surgeon, and a few prescriptions later, I left the ER.
I meet with an orthopedic surgeon Monday to see what happens next.
What I have learned is easier to do with two hands:
1. Typing.
2. Blow drying my hair.
3. Hooking/unhooking my bra—impossible! I'm not a 17-yr-old boy, and don't have that kind of practice...
4. Shaving under my good arm.
5. Drying off after showering.
6. Washing one hand.
7. Clipping the nails on my good hand.
8. Spreading peanut butter on toast.
9. Opening string cheese.
10. Unscrewing lids to almost anything, but water bottles are the worst so far.
Apparently, I am kind of an aggressive racquetball player: last Wednesday night about twenty minutes into a game, I was going after a shot, tripped over my husband, and tumbled hard onto the floor. I could tell that it was a big fall as soon as it happened, but then I looked at my hand. My left pinky was jutting out in a couple of wrong directions, and blood was coming from somewhere along the lateral side of my hand. D grabbed all our stuff, we ran to the car, and I spent the next few hours in the local ER.
An hour and a half, folks. That's how long it took for the on call orthopedic doctor and the nurse with the drugs to come by. Which is actually faster than I would have thought since I wasn't dying, but I think they should just inject everyone sporting weird bone angles with Demerol immediately when you walk in--everyone would be so much happier, and that would be nice, wouldn't it? The doc was friendly, but way too informative: I didn't need to hear the words scalpel, crunchy, straighten, "the thicker needle," or surgery until after the drugs started to work. And I told him so. Three stitches, lots of shots, two IV's, a completely ghetto splint of plaster and gauze, the name of a hand surgeon, and a few prescriptions later, I left the ER.
I meet with an orthopedic surgeon Monday to see what happens next.
What I have learned is easier to do with two hands:
1. Typing.
2. Blow drying my hair.
3. Hooking/unhooking my bra—impossible! I'm not a 17-yr-old boy, and don't have that kind of practice...
4. Shaving under my good arm.
5. Drying off after showering.
6. Washing one hand.
7. Clipping the nails on my good hand.
8. Spreading peanut butter on toast.
9. Opening string cheese.
10. Unscrewing lids to almost anything, but water bottles are the worst so far.
posted by marcy at 7:49 AM
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