I’ll start: I tried to move a bookshelf while drunk about 6 years ago and tore a tendon in my shoulder pretty damn good. It still bothers me sometimes if I move it wrong or sleep on it wrong.
I’ll start: I tried to move a bookshelf while drunk about 6 years ago and tore a tendon in my shoulder pretty damn good. It still bothers me sometimes if I move it wrong or sleep on it wrong.
I never felt my hand break.
The tip of my opponent’s long sword snapped into the back of my right hand, just behind the pinkie. There was no flash of incandescent pain, no stars in my sight - my mind was too focused on the swordfight. My opponent had scored a hit - and it had hurt, even through my glove - but adrenaline, as they say, is a hell of a drug.
After the tournament, it became clear that something was wrong. My hand began to swell and deform, my right pinkie levering itself inward across my palm until it was sitting at nearly 30° off true. Its nail sat jauntily behind the second knuckle of my middle finger. Making a fist was impossible.
Unfortunately, I was nineteen and had neither cash nor insurance for a doctor. So I did the next best thing - ignored it and told people it was probably just a bad sprain. When people suggested I see a doctor i responded, “What’s a doctor gonna do? Tell me it’s broken and take it easy? I’ll save the money.”
After a few weeks the swelling had gone down enough that I could finally feel the bones in my hand. Where there had once been a single line from wrist to knuckle, I could now feel an ‘x’. An ‘x’ which had clearly spent the last few weeks knitting together at a now permanent bad angle.
It occurred to me then what a doctor would do - set it properly. But now they’d need to re-break the bone.
Unfortunately I still had neither insurance nor cash.
What I did have was a freezer full of popsicles and a small toolbox. I ate a popsicle. And then put the stick between my teeth as I braced my right hand on the table and raised a hammer in my left.
WHAM … WHAM!
I hauled on my pinkie to pull the now-separated bones out straight then massaged them into position until things felt roughly aligned properly.
… Many years later I had health insurance and told my doctor this story and asked if he could x-ray it for me. A week later I received a letter in the mail. Inside was a printout of my hand x-ray with the healed break circled in pen. Besides the circle was a note: “Good job with the hammer”.
All things considered I did a pretty good job, but it’s not quite perfect. My pinkie still leans inward - just a hair. Just enough to remind me.
The kind of story that, among the modern nations, literally only happens in America.
Ha ha, yup. I love telling this story, but it’s also a definite indictment of the state of medical care in the states.