How appropriate that I would choose to write about my hands, given the task title.





Observe this picture. Yes, my knuckle to my right hand's pinky is sorely understated.

Flashback to 2005. The year is... erm, well, 2005. If I'm not mistaken the month was a June. The afternoon itself wasn't particularly memorable; myself and some friends, including my younger brother, were relaxing and playing video games in my bedroom.

Now, anyone who has had a younger brother knows that fistfights are bound to happen, especially when said younger brother is a mere two years younger. In 2005, we were the ages of 17 and 15, respectively. It wasn't so much that we actively hated one another as much as it was that we couldn't stan each other.

So, naturally, we began to grate on one another, which escalated into arguing, which resulted in an action wherein he lunged towards me. In the interests of "Ohcrapheisgonnapunchme", I took the initiative and swung openly. My fist made contact.

Incorrectly.

I should explain; we had been training in martial arts for about 7 years by 2005. We both knew how to properly throw a punch (which involves making contact with the first two knuckles ONLY). However, in my haste and his movement, I made contact with only the last knuckle.

Aside from the searing pain, I was more concerned with the yelling I got from my mother. It was only after three days, intense discomfort and the ugliest discoloration of my hand that I went back to my mother and said "I... think I need a doctor."

Turns out I had something of a Boxer's Fracture, except more along the lines of "Boxer's Bone-that-is-now-in-two-pieces". The orthopedic hand doctor said my choices, having visited him days after the incident, were as follows: A) I could suck it up, get a cast places over my wrist/hand/ring and pinky fingers, followed by living my life with a lesser knuckle, or B) undergo invasive surgery to reset the bone and continue my lifelong aspiration of being a television hand model. I chose the former.

If nobody has ever had a cast, it kinda sucks. This particular cast had a soft exterior, so it wasn't really suitable for signing, and I had to place my hand into a large ziploc bag every time I wanted to shower. Getting that thing off my arm was wonderful, aside from all the dead skin trapped underneath. Washing that hand after six weeks was glorious.

EDIT: I forgot to mention where the fist contact was made. I hit his skull. He didn't even so much as bruise, and to this day he continues to laugh at me. We're close friends now. :)