Broken

I’m broken. Seriously–I have fractured finger. It’s a weird, dumb story that I’ve already told approximately 3000 times, but here goes…

I have some chickens. Well, my mom and I share some chickens. It works out nicely, because we live next door to each other, so we share care duties and both get fresh eggs. We let them free range between our yards–the coop is in my yard, but they love to hang out under Mom’s bird feeders for any seed the wild birds happen to kick out. The last few months, though, they’ve been spending a lot of time in the carport that’s attached to my house. I think they discovered the garlic I’d hung in there to cure (they ate what they could reach…jerks), and then just decided they liked hanging out in there. The Bearded One parks in that carport, and it covers our back door, so we’ve basically had a minefield of chicken crap to tiptoe through every time we use that door for several weeks. This is not ideal.

The other morning, I’d taken Marty out for a jaunt, and as we were walking up to the front door, I noticed that the chickens were in the carport again. I thought to myself that it would not be a terrible idea to just walk in there with the dog and chase them out. This was NOT not a terrible idea. I started into the carport, but those birds did not just run out of the carport like I thought they probably would–no, no. They started flapping and flying all over the place and, for some reason, Dolores (the prettiest chicken we have) ended up flying right in front of Marty’s face. Now, I don’t know if she was playing, or if she was trying to protect me from the flying fowl, or if she was actually out for blood, but Marty snapped out towards Dolores and caught her. So, suddenly, there was a chicken in my dog’s mouth. Well, more accurately, there was a section of a chicken’s feathers in my dog’s mouth. Poor Dolores was still flapping and trying to fly away, but now she was also making this terrible screeching sound, and I didn’t know what to do–everything was happening so fast. Kind of instinctively, I straddled the dog, and started trying to pry her probably-part-pit bull jaws apart to release Dolores’s back feathers, but I happened to be wearing what I call my “cozy, cozy mittens”, and I couldn’t feel where my hands were exactly. Somehow, my middle finger ended up between Marty’s back teeth, and I imagine those cozy, cozy mittens probably just felt like more feathers to her in all the commotion, and suddenly she bit down. She bit down hard. Really, really hard. Right on my finger. It sucked. A lot. Within seconds, I believe poor Dolores’s feathers gave way, and she ran off in terror (with a chunk of feathers missing from her back). I was able to pull my hand out of Marty’s mouth, and got her inside where I took off my cozy, cozy mitten to reveal the smashed finger inside. It actually looked misshapen. But I put my hand in my dog’s mouth while she was trying to hold onto a chicken, so it’s my own damned fault.

You never really realize how much you use each finger until one of them is out of commission. I didn’t actually go to the doctor until the day after it happened. I had to work that night, so I had my Ma bandage it up and I went to work. I typed as well as I could and kept it elevated when possible, and it seemed to be doing okay–it was just about three times its normal size and turning all sorts of colors. But I happened to have had a regular physical scheduled for the next morning, anyway, so I figured I would just have someone look at it then. But when I got to the clinic, I found out that my provider was out sick. I’d had a missed call that morning, but they didn’t leave a message (because my voicemail box was full. I hate voicemail…). So, I rescheduled my physical and went to the Urgent Care that happened to be in the same building.

They took X-rays, and told me it was fractured. Actually, they told me it was a displaced fracture, and put me in a terrible metal and foam splint (that I believe was doing more harm than good because it kept catching on things), and referred me to an orthopedist. And they made me fill out an Animal Control Bite Report Form–my own dog has a bite record now, because I stupidly put my hand in her mouth when she was trying to hold onto a chicken. Anyway, I went to see the orthopedist the next day, and he said the lady at Urgent Care “oversold it”. He showed me the X-rays, and pointed out the fracture, but the bone isn’t displaced–it’s mostly still intact. And he put me in a different kind of splint that has a much smaller profile and is actually protecting the broken part instead of potentially making it worse. He even told me I could play volleyball (I play in a rec league once a week) as long as I’m careful. But it’s still going to be a nuisance for the next month or two. Which brings me to a disconcerting truth that this experience has reminded me of: every little decision you make can have a huge effect on your life. Every time you apply for a job, or send a message to someone on OKCupid, or start listening to a new podcast, or race a yellow light, or step into a carport full of chickens with your dog on a leash, you could be changing the trajectory of your life. Obviously, not every single decision will have a major impact. I just sometimes think about how each one COULD. It’s a sobering thought, really. And it’s something I think most of us tend to forget. We go about our lives, making hundreds of little decisions every day, never thinking about the potential consequences.

I don’t mean for this to be a downer blog post. Really, I think you can look at this truth in a variety of ways. Of course you can lament the pressure and refuse to ever make a decision because you’re afraid you’ll choose the wrong thing, but then that’s a decision in itself. Honestly, I think I’ve spent significant portions of my life living that way, at least professionally–just riding whichever wave I happened to be on until, eventually, either I was ready to get out of the water or another wave came along that seemed more promising. But I don’t think that’s how we’re supposed to live. I think you can also look at every decision as an opportunity to change your life. It’s no secret that I’m always listening to encouraging podcasts and reading self-help books, and they tend to contain a lot of recurring themes. One of which is that if you don’t make working on your goals a priority, or if you let little things get in the way and make excuses, you probably won’t ever accomplish what you really want to do.

Tony Robbins (…American author, entrepreneur, philanthropist, and life coach. -Wikipedia) once said, “It is in your moments of decision that your destiny is shaped.” Over the next several weeks, I’m going to try to use this splint as a reminder that, with every decision I make, I’m either working towards or against achieving my goals.

*Note: for those who might be wondering about Dolores’s condition, she seems to be doing okay. She has a wound, but she’s acting normally.

**Another note: since “The Incident”, I’m happy to report that the chickens have steered pretty clear of the carport. I’m not sure it was worth an injured chicken (and a broken me), but I’m all about finding silver linings where I can…