Today was a big day. I got fitted for a splint.
I could almost hear all of the women who read my blog collectively gasp in horror, but need not worry ladies. I am fine. It’s just that last weekend, my left wrist was really bothering me.
Now I like to think I have a pretty high tolerance for pain. I’m not saying I’m some big tough guy, but I’m also not the guy who goes crying to the doctor every time he feels a little twinge of pain. But even last weekend, when this came about, I could tell that something was wrong. I couldn’t put any pressure on my wrist, and every time I turned it I could hear a clicking sound.
I also had no idea how it happened. The pain came about on Sunday, and I know that on Saturday night I was out late at my local bar, and there was at least a one-hour-window that I had no recollection of. So I assumed I did something stupid during that hour to bring about the injury — it wouldn’t be the first time.
However, a week passed, and it didn’t really improve much after that. I even tried working out during the week, and I think that made it worse.
It also occurred to me that I didn’t actually do anything specific to injure myself. It just happened. This made me a little more concerned.
But I later realized that the only explanation is that I must have injured it while working out. I had hit the gym that Saturday, and I recall doing some rigorous lifting that could have easily resulted in a wrist sprain. And before you make any jokes, let me say that my left wrist is my off-hand.
So this morning I saw an orthopedist, and he diagnosed me with left wrist tendinitis and he acknowledged that it probably is a result from overexertion after working out.
One one hand (pun intended), I was a little disconcerted. Having wrist tendinitis at age 25 isn’t exactly the most thrilling prospect, but then I realized — I had a workout injury. That is freaking manly. When a guy injures himself, it’s normally customary to make up some extravagant lie to make it sound cool. Because in reality, most people injure themselves in pathetic ways. Like ironing a shirt. Or opening a jar.
The orthopedist then told me he was going to fit me with a splint, just to keep the bone stable for a week or so. At first I became a little worried, thinking it was going to be one of those old-fashioned wimpy-looking splints, with the blue Velcro and white straps.
But then he returns with this jet black, super cool looking splint. Honestly, it looked like something that Batman would wear. So not only did I have superhero-like arm support, but furthermore, I was able to tell people I received the injury while lifting weights. I felt like a barbarian.
All day long, whenever I saw somebody new, I would wave to them with my splint hand, and then act surprised when they asked me what happened. I’d be like, “Oh, the splint? You noticed? Yeah, I injured it at the gym. It’s no big deal.” And then I would pretend to twist it and cringe in pain, like I was some war hero. I also spoke in a Batman voice.
Just check out the picture of my splint again.
I mean, how is that any different from this?
Obviously, I also didn’t miss the opportunity to say to at least one person, “Yeah, well you should see the other guy,” and then followed it with a stupid laugh, which ruined any sense of coolness there could have been.
On the downside, I actually have to keep the splint on for about a week, and all the allure will probably wear off by tomorrow, and then I face the reality that I’m wearing a giant contraption on my left arm for 168 hours. I also have to lay off the weights, meaning I might lose some of the great definition I’ve added over the past few months.
But at least today, while the splint was new and relevant, and everybody was curious as to why I had it — I got to feel cool. And everybody should experience that at least once in their life.
Even if they have to fake an injury.