War wound

A week ago Wednesday I was loading Sawyer into the car and talking to another playgroup mom - basically trying to do three things at once - when I slammed my right pointer finger in the car door. Ouch! The nurse practitioner and lab tech who x-rayed it took more than two hours to tell me they have no idea whether I broke it - but the fact that I can't bend my finger and that when I extend my hand there is a sharp stabbing feeling near my second knuckle seems like a pretty bad sign to me. What blows me away is that here we are in the 21st century and team of medical experts still can't tell my if my finger is broken by looking at an x-ray. Two hours into the appointment, Arden was cooked, and with my finger unwrapped I couldn't do much to help her. The nurse started palpitating my finger, asking: 'does this hurt? does that hurt?' and I'm all: 'the only thing that hurts right now lady is the sound of my baby screaming.' So, in the end, she taped my finger back up into the same splint I walked in with and sent me on my way with the instruction that 'maybe you should wear the splint some and maybe you should try wiggling it around some.' Thank God for sound medical advice, right? Problem is, my right pointer finger happens to be my most favorite finger, and I want to make sure it's fully functional well into the future - so I may be forced to seek a second opinion. Lacking the use of my most favorite finger has made this week a tough one. It's amazing how a missing finger adds challenge to simple tasks like changing a diaper or washing a dish. Not to mention my job- typing, photographing and writing. And, so, despite the fact that this was birthday week for me (April 10), I've been in something of a slump. My patience level has been unusually low and I've had a tough time keeping a positive attitude. And I have no prognosis for how long this will take to heal. And it's just a banged up finger. I can't even imagine how it must be for all these amputee soldiers returning from Iraq.