Sunday night I smashed my left middle finger in the door to our deck. Specifically, I smashed my cuticle. Now the fingernail is turning purple and the finger is half a size bigger than it ought to be.
Oh, yeah, and it hurts. It hurts a lot.
If you ever think you don’t use your non-dominate hand often enough, try injuring it. Since yesterday I have learned that I rely on my left hand for everything taking a shower to tying my shoes. I haven’t gotten to work yet, but I can only imagine how it’s going to go. Most importantly, as far as this blog goes, I use it for typing. I’m typing one handed and I have’t gotten the hang of it yet. If there are several typos in this post, you now know why. Every time I bump the digit, my nerves remind me that my kinesthetic sense is not as good as I thought it was.
I suppose this is a prime example of the old adage of, “you don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone.” I’d like to say I’ve learned my lesson, but, knowing me it probably won’t take.
My only consolation is it isn’t broken. I can still bend it, though I’m not keen on the idea.
As far as taking care of it goes, about all I can do is ice it and take painkillers. This particular finger is not one it’s considered polite to keep elevated.
It’s funny though. I’ve slammed my finger; I can’t do anything with my left hand; I’m in constant, low-grade pain; and all I can seem to focus on is: “Man, I’m gonna lose that nail. It’s gonna look hideous for months.”