Ten Metacarpals Are Better Than Nine

Six weeks ago I broke my fifth metacarpal while engaged in extracurricular activities that I won't bore you with. I offer the following as a pre-meditative resource for those of you considering similar endeavors.

Normal, everyday actions that become challenging whilst wearing a cast:

1. Clapping
2. Shaking hands
3. Not answering the question "What happened to your hand?" 5 times every half-hour
4. "Corrective hand gestures"
5. Eating anything requiring more than one utensil
6. TYPING
7. See #3
8. Not smashing significant other's face with plaster tube while in midst of sneezing fit.
9. "Sexytime"
10. Scratching that spot above your wrist that you swear to god had never itched until that rotten bastard at the hospital encased your arm in a tomb with an internal climate identical to the Everglades in August, except with more insects.
11. Petting the dog. (However, hitting the cat becomes much more effective and satisfying)
12. Showering
13. Paying bills not associated indirectly with your orthopedist's mortgage
14. Driving a standard transmission
15. See #3
16. Hitting walk-off home runs

The list goes on and on.

You can imagine my elation when the cast was removed (amid wild fanfare provided solely by yours truly) and what was once a slightly broken — yet serviceable — right hand was transformed into a device that, were it attached to a penguin, would make a negligible improvement to it's dexterity. As if my horror needed only the proper context, the doctor had the audacity to say it "looked good" and "Only requires a bit of stretching". Nate Robinson requires a bit of stretching; my hand requires amputation, thank you.