Last night on the way home, I slammed my thumb between two doors at Union Station. The genius who designed the doors didn't consider that when these adjacent doors open back to back, they actually collide with each other.
My hand was in between.
Believe it or not, I didn't yell, didn't even flinch. Somehow I managed to hold it together until I got home, at which point the shock wore off and I fell apart. Crying, whining, the whole nine yards. The Husband took good care of me, though. Got me a bowl of ice to soak my thumb in. Made me dinner and let me watch Buffy all night long (I'm starting Season 7).
I'm right-handed, so getting ready for work today was fun. You don't really appreciate how much you need your thumb until it's decommissioned. And typing ... well. Let's just say that this post is taking me much longer to type than usual!
Let me tell you that this thing hurts like a sonnova! It's swollen from the knuckle up. Half the nail is black and the rest of the thumb is turning a lovely shade of purple. I have a separate pulse in my right thumb now and it's throbbing to its own drummer. It's a wicked drum solo. I may go on tour.
Ain't she a beaut?!