Saturday Single No. 184

The nurse seemed to think the story sounded fishy. The doctor was maybe a little less skeptical, but he gave me a look that clearly said, “I think there’s more to the story than you’re telling.” And both reactions were understandable. But the vague tale I was telling was true.

Yesterday was a pretty normal Friday. I kept moderately busy: catching up on the long list of blogs I follow, sorting and tagging some mp3s, putting off doing the dishes and trying to decide what to do at dinnertime with the hamburger I’d thawed the night before. And I was doing three loads of laundry along the way.

I have a vague memory. At some time during my laundry chores, something happened: The ring finger on my right hand got tangled in something. It might have been the clutch of coat hangers I was juggling as I headed downstairs to switch a wet load into the dryer. It might have been a clump of wet towels as I made that switch. Or it might have been a pile of dry towels and socks as I pulled them from the dryer and loaded them into the basket.

But something – and I truly do not recall what it was – got hold of my right ring finger for an instant, and it twisted slightly at the upper-most joint. As silly as it sounds, I recall thinking something like, “Wow, that didn’t feel good.” I looked at my hand, saw no damage to the finger and went about my work.

About two hours later, the finger started to tingle, then to throb, and the tip began to swell slightly. I took off the ring I’d recently begun wearing. (It’s one of my dad’s rings that my mom passed on to me; there might be a blog post in its tale someday.) The throbbing increased, and as it did and as my concern grew, I kept trying to remember how I’d twisted it. The memory remained vague.

The discomfort became anything but vague. The car I normally drive was at the garage down the street in preparation for minor surgery, so I called the Texas Gal, and while she was en route, I called Dr. Julie’s office. She wasn’t in yesterday, so I got an appointment with a physician new to me, Dr. Flores.

“So you really don’t know how it happened?” he asked.

I shook my head. “Something with towels or coat hangers,” I said. “That’s all I can say.”

He nodded and, looking at the results of three x-rays, told me that the finger wasn’t broken. I’d been pretty sure that was the case, but it was good to have it confirmed. He said that I’d stretched and sprained one of the ligaments that connect the fingertip to the next bone; in order to keep from irritating that ligament, he recommended a splint to immobilize that joint. That, and anti-inflammatory medication would have the finger in pretty good shaped in five to seven days.

The finger looks pretty good this morning. The swelling is down, and I’ve learned while writing this that I don’t often use the ring finger on either hand for typing. Still, the splint was getting in the way, so I took it off. (It will go back on as soon as this is posted and shared.)

And when I sat down to write this little tale, I knew there was only one song that could accompany it. During the summer of 1960, Hank Ballard and the Midnighters had a No. 7 hit with “Finger Poppin’ Time,” and that’s today’s Saturday Single.

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One Response to “Saturday Single No. 184”

  1. AMD says:

    Ouch, I hope the finger gets better. I type with only one finger. When my right index finger was out of action a few years ago, I had to rope in my middle finger. I rather liked the thought of addressing people with the middle finger…

    Great choice of song. Didn’t know it.

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