You know, when they say that most accidents happen in the home, especially in the bathroom, somehow I always envisioned the whole slipping in the bathtub and breaking a hip kinda thing.
Monday I snapped the extensor tendon in my left ring finger while drying off after my bath. YES. You heard right. I was gently toweling my freshly bathed bod when there arose a nefarious *POP*! Words cannot express my amazement when I discovered my finger hanging there limp and useless. It reminded me of a contrary dog who refuses to fetch the paper.
Either my finger had suddenly decided to 'play dead' or I had just royally screwed up any plans regarding Christmas baking, cleaning, cooking, wrapping, typing (this will be a short post, folks. keyboarding with this ortho splint is ungodly tedious, awkward and semi-painful) ... you get the idea.
Anyway, call me naive but I had no idea towels were rife with danger. Now I have to depend on the help of my loved ones for all those chores associated with the holidays, even maybe unto Easter.
See, I may have to wear this splint for possibly as long as 22 weeks.
TWENTY TWO WEEKS!!!!!!!!!!!!
Or face surgery (I am such a coward. I hate surgery!)
Or live with a limp finger.
I really outta pump this for all it is worth :D :D :D
Mwha ha ha ha
With any luck, should I play my cards right - like emit the occasional sigh of pain, keep a gentle yet woeful countenance on my face at all times, and start flipping through photo albums way back from the good ol' days whilst rambling on about all my friends who have 'passed away' (although not from finger injuries as far as I know) - I could hopefully avoid unpleasant household chores till spring! 22 WEEKS!!!
To imagine no one expecting me to do anything more strenuous than reading a book & ingesting Dove chocolates would be a dream come true.
:D :D :D
Right. The above is so not going to happen. If I tried to pull something like that, my family would be more likely to stick me out on an ice floe like the Eskimos used to do to their aged, infirm relatives. So long, GammaNoTeeth!!! Farewell, Uncle Flatulence!!!
And there I would drift. Cold, alone, and covered in Bob's steak sauce which is preferred by Polar bears the world over.
Trust me, I won't dare try to pump anything with these guys. I'll be content if the cats' litter box gets cleaned often enough that it doesn't take on the proportions of Mt. Rushmore. Those poor little kitties will be frantically scratching thru the litter like they are panning for gold in the Yukon.
~MERRY CHRISTMAS & HAPPY HOLIDAYS TO ALL~