On pins and...pins

So, turns out I need to have little pins inserted in my finger to prevent it from healing in a bizarre scimitar-like shape. And I will probably have to sacrifice my wedding ring, unless they can force it off my bloated finger after they put my arm to sleep but before they insert the metal pins. Looking at the enormous purple sausage jutting out from my hand, that prospect seems so cringingly, painfully impossible that I almost prefer that that they skip the wrangling and go straight to the metal cutters - which is not to say I'm indifferent to my wedding ring. I really am quite fond of it.

Turns out the good surgeons like to add some anti-anxiety drugs to the IV mix, because people tend to get anxious when they are fully conscious and watching as their wedding ring is cut to bits and metal pins are drilled into their bones. Go figure.

I'm also advised that I will most definitely want to make use of that Vicotin prescription after this is done, because forcing your broken bone into position and then nailing it together with metal leaves a bit of an achy feeling behind. Little bit.

I'm flying to LA a couple of weeks after, so I guess I'll have to get one of those special letters for airport securing certifying that I really do have metal inside my body. So please don't strip-search me.

But hey - it's all ok. In most times and places on earth, someone in my situation would just splint the finger as best as possible, and would end up with a slightly deformed hand, and would adapt. It's a reflection of the luxury of my existence that I can go to a clinic that specializes exclusively in hands, and they can arrange it so my finger will (probably) heal good as new, and I have insurance that will mostly pay for it. Plus, we can afford to buy me a new wedding ring. It'll be romantic.