OUCH!
While playing basketball yesterday, I dislocated my pinky finger on my right (shooting) hand. Although I have jammed my fingers plenty of times, and once had a moderately sprained ankle, I have never suffered an injury like a dislocated finger.
You know, it doesn't sound too bad. It is, after all, just a finger. And it's not lost or anything, just dislocated. And you hear about dislocated fingers all the time if you watch enough sports on TV. The announcers always say things like "Hey, that finger isn't supposed to point in that direction," or something pithy like that. Most times, said digit is simply popped back into place, and the player is back on the floor. Easy, right?
I can't say it was the worst pain I ever felt. Mostly, I didn't feel much at all beyond the sensation that my finger was on fire and numb. And then I looked down at my hand. (And I thought: "Hey, that finger isn't supposed to point in that direction." And then I screamed: "Fuck, fuck, fuck...") These are not my X-Rays-I didn't seek qualified medical attention. I provide them merely in the hopes that someone reading this will feel sick to their stomach. Mine looked very much like the one on the left, like an off-ramp.
"Take a left at the first knuckle, and you're there..."
I'm not a "tough" person when it comes to physical ailments. I can't deal with the image of needles piecing skin, I have fainted while having blood drawn, etc. I very nearly vomited on my own hand once I saw what had happened. What to do?
There were about 10 other guys there. I was sure any number of them had experience with popping fingers back into place. I don't know why I thought this, exactly. I not only couldn't find an experienced hand to deal with my finger, several of the guys were as repulsed by my new form as I was. All I knew was if I looked at my finger one more time, I was going to vomit, and then faint in my own pool of vomit. I wanted it fixed, ASAFP. I heard some rumblings about nerve damage, about people not really knowing how to do it. I didn't care. Through clenched teeth, I gave my hand to whoever wanted to give it a shot, and I turned my head.
Loyal Pipeline reader Mike B. came to the rescue, along with a couple other guys with tough stomachs and some experience with their own dislocations. Mike popped it back in line with the other fingers. It was a very strange and unsettling feeling. I was relieved, but Mike informed me we were only half-way done. Although my finger looked normal from above, if you took a profile view, when it got to that first knuckle, the finger shot up at a 45 degree angle, but then went straight out again. It was like my finger had a step in it. So a second pop was needed. Thanks, Mike. And thanks for the tape job, Leon.
I finished the game I was in, which was marred by a series of errant shots, passes and dribbles out of my now malformed and taped and numb hand. Although I now had an excuse for my regularly sucky play, it was clear that I was done for the day.
Today, my finger has the dark purple hue and thickness of deer sausage. But it's all pointing the right way, at least.
9:59:46 AM 
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