He hurried me to Thomas Hospital, where I learned mine was the kind of injury that made most people wince before looking away. Although I normally love getting two-for-one deals, this time I was grateful to have just a bad dislocation rather than the break-dislocation combo that most, at first glance, thought it was.
Hours later, staggering from the lovely medley of medications I'd been served at the hospital, we stopped at home long enough to pick up the Christmas presents and head up to my parents' house. But with me incapacitated, there was one gift we couldn't take with us.
The bench I'd gotten up early to tweak.
The next few days are a bit of a blur, with Geoff and Celeste waiting on me hand and foot. (Lest you believe them to be saints, one is responsible for the Pierre mustache I found drawn on my upper lip after awakening from a nap, while the other collected video footage of me answering bizarre questions while loopy on pain meds.)
On Monday, I returned to work with my heavily padded arm in a sling, and as those who have endured an obvious injury have experienced, I found myself being questioned about what happened at every turn. It wasn't long before what actually happened began to feel far too dull, so I began mixing it up just a bit.
When asked, What happened to your arm?
How'd you get hurt?
Arm-wrestling. After I'm better, I'm making Grandma give me a rematch.
What on earth did you do?
This is what happens when you tell Selby you won't do something that isn't in your job description.
My once impressive swelling has receded, so my hand no longer resembles an inflated surgical glove. And two days after Christmas, a neighbor helped us load my parents' bench into our car. Even though it was late, it was still a big hit.
The chief motivation for making presents this year was so we could save money. I just didn't realize at the outset that it was so we could send it to Thomas Hospital instead.
Reach Karin Fuller at karinful...@cnpapers.com.