Give Me a Break

Well - I've found myself a little short-handed as of late...mostly because for the last month - it's been literally so. In the middle of May - I injured my fourth finger on my right hand. At the time (we were one player short of a full team against the Hornets) I thought I was being tough and brave and supportive to my team. I made a open field tackle and slipped it - my mistake of course but before I completely botched it - my finger somehow got wrapped up in the girl's spandex or shorts and took my finger with her. When I looked down - my finger was slightly twisted. I did what every tight-head prop would and pulled on it to relocate the finger. I wasn't about to step off the field and make my team an additional player short even though the game was well (well) out of hand and there were mere moments left in it. I wandered over to rejoin the play.

It was (of course), a line-out.
And not only just a line out...a line that turned into a maul. What happened in that maul is unknown to me. All I know is the next moment - I heard three distinct pops and I pulled myself decidedly out of the maul (with a few distinct words to go with it). My finger - once again appeared to be dislocated. Again, I did what any tighthead prop would do.

I pulled on it and relocated it.
For the record and in my defense - it felt 80% better when I straightened it out.

The swelling started and being responsible I went and got x-rays. The doctor confirmed that I had dislocated my finger. I went home and the swelling began....

Lovely, right?

So that was Wednesday. The long weekend hits and the swelling starts to go down - well most of the swelling. The swelling on the finger stayed especially right where a ring would sit. That swelling had always been super tight and white. I had started to suspect around Sunday that my finger might have been broken. Would you believe that the doctor called me on Monday to tell me that my finger was actually broken?

Tuesday...more x-rays.

Thursday...consultation with a hand surgeon.

 Friday...date with a plastic surgeon in the OR.

Saturday...I'm the new owner of a titanium plate and six screws in my finger. 

And what do I end up with? An incision that looks like I got attacked by a cat.

Pretty anti-climatic, right? So at this point - rugby is out until late July. Which is kind of sucks - because, for whatever reason - I was really looking forward to playing this season. And it's really weird - this is the first time in my rugby career that an injury has actually kept me off the field. 

Probably what makes me the most frustrated is that moment right after a twisted my finger in that first tackle...if I wasn't trying to be a hero - if I wasn't so caught up with being tough, brave, and supportive to my team in a point in the game that wouldn't have made a difference...in a position where the outcome was not going to change...I could have possibly prevented all of this. At what point am I going to learn that I can't control everything? And that I don't have to martyr myself for the cause? When am I going to learn that stepping aside isn't giving up...sometimes it's just necessary because sometimes it just means that you will get to play again.

But I apparently haven't learned that yet...because if I had - I would likely be suiting up this weekend for a game rather than running water.

Deep thoughts just from a reconstructed finger...eh?