This morning after breakfast, I went back to the hospital to keep the appointment I got yesterday after receiving a handful of stitches in my tendon and skin. My hope was to have my fist liberated from its boxing glove of gauze and the tendon and thumb declared in good shape and to leave shortly thereafter with only a little patch on my thumb that wouldn't impede my goings-about. Maybe I'd even be able to go back to work before Christmas.
This is not at all what transpired. The nurse who removed my bandages didn't look much at the wound. She had a colleague call the emergency room to see what damages they had actually see the day before. Then a powwow was held in the examination room where it was concluded it would be beneficial for my healing process if I wore a cast henceforth. And so it came to pass.
I'm mildly excited as this is my first cast, and I'm grateful that I have regained at least partial command over the fingers of my left hand. I imagine that two ends of a tendon will grow into one more easily if the assembly is held as still as possible, but I think that the treatment might be just a little excessive. What's gonna happen the next time I return to the hospital? Will I leave in a wheelchair - or worse?
No comments:
Post a Comment