Cast-Away
The ladder saga continues.
The cast itches because, of course, it does. When I broke my hand five weeks ago, neither the regular MD nor the specialist believed there would be any problem healing my hand. I lived with a splint for a week, then a cast that lovingly enveloped my ring and pinky fingers for another two long weeks.
I lived in great expectation of getting that cast off and only wearing a “work splint” for the duration of the two weeks after.
Finally, the cast was off. My fingers wouldn’t bend. The nurse in charge was all too happy to let me wash the accumulated stink off my hands from three weeks of too-close encounters with unhygienic cotton and fiberglass material. She cordially offered me the cast to “bring home.” I made “ew” noises. We both laughed, and she threw it in the trash.
The imaging tech grabbed me and took pictures of my hand for posterity. The minute she brought me back, and the Sports Medicine Specialist eyed my x-rays, he started apologizing.
“I didn’t realize the break was this bad. You really couldn’t see it on the other x-ray.” He demonstrated the differences in my x-rays like a disappointed father going through some issues. “I’m afraid we’ll have to put on another cast. You’ll need to wear it for three more weeks. Don’t worry, we won’t enclose your fingers again. We’ll leave them open, and…
