Sunday night Brandon and I went out for a while. I dressed up, even wearing my one and only pair of heels for most of the night. We both looked pretty snazzy, if I do say so, myself. I managed to get through the night out in my heels without falling even once, which is a big deal for me. I fell later, wearing flats.
I fell on the way home, when we stopped at the gas station to pick up the ice cream I wanted (and the nicotine B was craving). Tripped on the curb, and SPLAT! I was sprawled on the sidewalk. Scraped both knees. Twisted my right wrist and hand. And smacked my head on the concrete , too. This “curbed” my apetite for ice cream – at least temporarily! By the time we got home my hand was swollen and I realized I could barely move my pinkie and ring fingers.
I spent the rest of the night with ice packs on both my face (in hopes I wouldn’t develop a huge black eye) and my hand. When the pain had not decreased by the next morning, we headed over to Urgent Care. I was pretty sure that at least part of my hand was broken – my pinkie was splayed way out from the rest of my hand, and to move either finger just made me want to cry!
After a little poking and prodding, a set of x-rays, and a series of questions (“No, I didn’t have a seizure.” “No, I hadn’t been drinking.” “No, nobody is hurting me.” ), it was determined that nothing was broken. My hand is severly sprained. They gave me a bulky brace “for comfort and healing” which I have to wear for three weeks. By the way, it is in NO WAY comfortable!
I can’t hold a pen, or a spoon. I cannot type (thank you, voice-to-text) or use the mouse correctly. Ugh.