This is a true story.  The player's names have not been changed to protect the innocent as there were no innocent participants in anything that follows. 

Just today I did the following to myself in my quest to get from one thing to another quickly; I drippled coffee down the side of my insulated mug which narrowly missed my cream colored cami which I was wearing underneath my blue cardigan sweater.  I nearly dumped the entire contents of my open and carelessly sprawled purse onto the floor of the car as I whipped around the corner on the way to work perilously catching the mess just before it plummeted off the seat.  I created a drop of blood on my cami as I gave myself a shot of insulin in my abdomen causing yet another stain I will not be able to get out.  I forgot to put my car in park as I pulled up to a UPS drop box and opened the door to reach the package/envelope slot causing the car to lurch forward as I quickly slammed back on the brakes.  I cut my thumb on my Cutco knife while trying to cut through a butternut squash I was trying to put in the oven before going out for a run after work.  I totally forgot that overfilling the blender with hot soup to puree it before finishing its wonderful cream squash soupiness would cause an explosion of molten lava soup to be splayed across my forearm, the walls, floor, cabinets, counters, handles, and in every nook and cranny of the blender itself, along with my slippers, shirt, jeans and skin.

I move at the speed of light and the above noted paragraph is sometimes the result of careening at full throttle into everything I touch.  Most definitely I get that from my dad.  Just ask my mom, my sisters, my daughter and my husband.  I want to think I am more careful than he is, but by reading my own day's log of injury events I cannot in good conscience and with honesty say that.  The thing is that it still doesn't really slow me down.  Occasionally it will cause a few swear words to fly, the momentary band-aid to be had, a few minutes added to my Olympic race since I have to stop and clean up something I created in my haste, dictate a change in clothes or possibly cause some lasting pain for the next few days.  Temporary I say.  That stuff is all temporary.

That's what I told myself a week or so ago when, while coming up the basement stairs in my underpants and flip flops carrying a laundry basket of clean clothes, I missed the top step and fell forward with no free arms to catch my fall.  I hit the wood step with absolute abruptness causing my full body weight to fall mostly on my right ring finger.  Who does that, I giggled to myself as I pulled back up to an upright position and glanced at my finger. 

The pain was sharp and intense.  I figured I broke it, but what was there to really do about a finger.  Plus it was my bad hand with three surgeries under its belt and bad finger that already had not much feeling from the middle joint to the tip.  That bad ring finger already made it impossible to press my palm completely flat on any surface.  Those surgeries had previously created new possibilities to use my cup shaped palm as a drinking cup if lost in the wilderness, or for a cereal bowl if there were no clean ones in the house.

The now distinctively curved to the left top joint of my right ring finger from my fall UP the basement stairs merely added to the distorted and diminished use of that part of my hand.  I winced but marched onward to work.  I had long since lost the ability to play octaves in that hand fully.  Pain eventually dwindles if you can wait it out. 

After being strong armed by my husband, who threatened to quit taking the herbs and vitamins I have him on if I didn't go get it X-rayed, I went.  I told him it was broke and there wasn't a lot to be done since it was already a bum finger anyway.  Irregardless of my plea to do nothing, we went to the doctor.

Yep, it's broken, my doctor said flatly as I laid my right hand on his desk.  I asked if there was a way to pull it back straight.  He explained that it appeared to be a crush break and that requires micro hand surgery.  A straight break yes could possibly be pulled back and splinted to heal straight.  An X-ray was needed to determine the type of break.

As the lady X-ray technician laid my right hand on the x-ray plate she positioned my hand in differing positions.  What I noticed was that it appeared she was filming not my ring finger but my little finger, the one next to the really crooked and swollen one.  I wondered how to tell her that she was NOT filming the right appendage.  Direct was best. "I was just wondering," I said casually, "Why you are filming a non-broken finger when the broken one right next to it is NOT being filmed?"  Her eyes widened as she looked at my hand and then the paper.  We started over filming the actual broken finger.

I wondered in the course of my life how much charging full steam ahead had cost me in small injuries, a few surgeries, the lost time of clean up, ruined clothes, broken dishes or had actually ended up adding more time to the process than if I lowered my RPM speed a tad.

I really didn't wonder long.  I was on to the next thing.  Today's accidents on the job of life were a result of speed and an overly full mind.  A deadly combination!

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