I did something to my middle finger while moving that’s caused it to swell up and occasionally not open up right away from a fist. A bit of Googling told me it’s an inflamed tendon known as trigger finger and I should go see a doctor.

“Bah!” I scoffed. There were no bones I could see sticking out. It occasionally gets better and works fine. I don’t need a doctor for this.

And so I skipped Step One of every medical guide online about this condition and went to Step Two – splinting it.

They say 6-8 weeks. We’ll see about that.

In the meantime, I cut open my palm. It’s not terrible, but it is enough that I need to goop it up and keep it bandaged. Problem is that it’s in a spot where a bandage won’t stay put. Hence the wrap.

I didn’t have the cut when I was at the DAM Women’s retreat last weekend, but I did have my finger buddy-splinted. Between that and the bruise on my arm that came from a box of books falling over on me, I got a lot of sympathetic head-tilts asking what happened.

It probably didn’t help that we also had a Q&A about abuse as part of the retreat. At least I didn’t have the hand wrap then, or they might have been more concerned about my assurances that it wasn’t from anyone grabbing me even though, yes, it does look like a thumbprint. And at least they couldn’t see the bruises on my chest, hip, and thigh that came from me literally running into doors while moving boxes.

I’m not being abused, I promise.