You have GOT to be kidding me.

Ever since I got my cast off, my wrist has bothered me a bit.  It's not usually unbearable (note the use of the word 'usually'), but I have shooting pain every few days, especially after playing volleyball or doing any serious exercise.  I've gotten away with popping some Ibuprofen before exercising, and the pain usually subsides.  Since I had never broken a bone before this one, I figured that perhaps, humans aren't really like iguanas, and we don't just grow back perfect new bones.  Well, the other day, I was heading to Walmart to pick up the most recent 3 Wolves Howling at the Moon t-shirt, and somehow I ended up in the so-called "ghetto" of Denver.  By the way, "ghetto" in Denver translates to "East Memphis" where I'm from.  Anyhow, I pulled a U-turn in an attempt to get un-lost.  I don't know if it was the way I twisted my hand around the steering wheel or what, my I swear I thought my hand had detached from the rest of my body.  Seriously, I instantly looked down to make sure it was still there.  I was somewhat disappointed when it was still attached to me, because I would think losing it completely would have hurt less than the pain I felt.  Now I know I can't expect 110% use after breaking something, but I was pretty certain that after almost 18 months, my wrist should NOT feel like someone just stabbed me with a bayonet. 

So I scheduled an appointment with Dr. Awkward again.  Great, this should be friggin fantastic.  I hoped he would tell me I was a weakling, needed some physical therapy and and send me on my way.  WRONG.  As the nurse took me in to get new x-rays, I started having flashbacks of the last time I was there.  The twisting.  The pushing.  The news.  The cast. The tears.  I shuddered.  When the doctor came in, he introduced himself to me.  Thanks, Doc.  You went through a very traumatic experience with me about a year ago and you don't even remember meeting me?  Aren't they supposed to look at the chart before entering the room to avoid being that rude?  Sheesh.

Well, he pulled up the x-rays, and even I could see there was some serious inconsistency in my scaphoid.  You know when you have to use the hole puncher on a stack of paper and it doesn't go through the first time?  And then the 2nd time, you re-punch the hole, but the paper isn't lined up right, so you end up with a hole like looks like an 8?  Well, that's what the inside of my bone looks like.  There's a friggin figure 8 punched into it.  I don't figure skate.  So I have no appreciate for damn figure 8's.  Now as you will recall, the scaphoid is like the worst bone to break in the body besides MAYBE your neck.  It's also apparently difficult to read on an xray, which was the excuse the doctor gave me for taking me out of the cast last year.  I think he was trying to avoid getting sued.  Anyhow, after the cat scan I get next week, which I'm sure will cost me more than this computer, he will be able to determine whether 1) I have a cist growing on the inside of my bone, in which case I need a bone graft and a few weeks of recovery, or 2) my bone never really healed, and I actually DO have to have a pin put in it this time.  Recovery would be around 3-4 months with that one.  F my life.  The doctor literally said, "Start mentally preparing yourself for either scenario.  I don't want you crying in here again like last time."  I thought he didn't remember me, but I think my smart ass sarcasm throughout this encounter jogged his memory a bit.

I used to be afraid of the Mayan 2012 prediction.  I'm actually sort of looking forward to it now.