Broken?
Our friend Tom from California will be coming to visit in a couple of days. This has precipitated a mad scramble to finish the upstairs -- for some very, very limited definition of "finish". Not to mention the eternal repainting-of-the-computer-room project, which has left our desktop PC, a ton of books/CDs/DVDs, and a bunch of other crap sitting in a pile in the middle of our (small) bedroom for a couple of weeks.The floor's been refinished upstairs. The window trim is installed and painted, the baseboards are painted but not installed. The built-in bed is theoretically usable -- no drawers yet, and there won't be until the weather warms up enough for me to work in the garage for more than a few minutes at a time. Oh, and no mattress either; that's still in the basement, and needs to be dragged up. The bathroom is mostly occupied by a large armoire which needs to be moved out into the room, and eventually to somewhere else entirely. The stair railing has yet to be installed. And there's no heat save what creeps up the stairs on its own.
In short, it's not very livable. But we're sending Tom up there anyway, because you know, that's the kind of people we are. (It'll be in better shape by the time he arrives, but there still won't be any heat.)
This, you might think, would not be a good time for Kristi to break another finger. To that I say, "Ha!"
I'm not actually sure it's broken; it might be badly jammed or sprained. But given her history, I'm betting on a break.
What? I've never told you about Kristi's fantastically fragile fracturing fingers? Shame on me.
Back in California, around 1995 or so, one of Kristi's dad's friends poured us a garage slab, and in the bargain a sidewalk from our back door to the garage. Cool. We checked it out after work. Kristi swung one leg over to straddle the walkway, and went to put one hand on each thigh.
Snap.
Yeah, at the time I laughed at the idea that you could break a finger by casually jamming it against your own leg. I'm still paying for that laugh.
After we moved to Minnesota she broke the same finger again. Turns out she had some sort of bone deformity or cyst that made it prone to breakage. She had surgery on it, and it's been fine since.
Yesterday's incident involved a different finger -- unfortunately, her right index finger. She was removing a needle from the arm of a donor who was having a bad reaction (which happens more often than I'd realized); he was struggling or spasming, and her finger jammed against his arm.
Snap (maybe). She still hasn't seen a doctor, so it's just a guess. But I won't be surprised if it's broken. She wasn't able to get to a doctor today, instead opting to go to work. I suppose you can stick needles into veins without your index finger, but personally, I'd get an x-ray. And a splint. And some Darvocet, if I could talk them into it.
Meanwhile, Tom may have to help me move the armoire and drag the mattress up two steep flights of stairs, because I can't see Kristi doing it. Sorry, Tom.
posted by MeanMrMustard @ 6:44 PM
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