I am so very stupid. Well, at least I did a stupid thing and the sad part about it is that I knew it wasn't the brightest thing to do just before I did it. I broke my old-age golden rule, that being, "Think about the potential consequences of what I'm about to do before I do it." Consider what might go wrong because, if there is one chance in a million something could go awry, well, in my life and with my poor luck, that one in a million thing will be the penalty for my poor judgment.
As I have often alluded to, I enjoy taking long walks on the nearby golf course. I stroll, accompanied solely by my trusty seven hybrid or pitching wedge. I absorb as much of the early morning or late evening sun's warmth as I can, all the while also getting in a little practice. It is normally a win-win situation.
Also and once more, as I have oft alluded to, I look for stray, lonely lost golf balls. These spherical delights come in a variety of colors, and I find special delight in discovering any which I find to have a particularly unique and/or odd hue. Those balls which can profess to be of some scarcity have an almost overpowering allure.
Well, the other day and in the morning, I went for a walk with my old and comfortable seven hybrid golf club. It was a beautiful morning and, as I walked and occasionally sent the ball 150 or so yards, there was certainly no indication of the scenario that was lurking later that day.
As I stood on the number seven hole's tee box, everything seemed just right for a good shot. There was little or no breeze, the ball was sitting exactly as I wanted and the water in the pond -- well, I really needn't concern myself with that and I said, "what pond, what water?" But then I noticed something, something round and of a color that looked to be pastel blue.
My thoughts returned to the issue in question and a good swing and proper ball flight produced a good shot. I watched as the ball landed and stopped on the left side of the green. The golfer in me was pleased but then the ball hunter in me considered something else: "What about that pastel blue ball?
I walked to the edge of the body of water and yes, there it was, at the base of the pond's small island, a pastel blue golf ball. In fact, there were several balls visible in the vicinity of the blue golf ball. I knew I couldn't reach the prize, so I decided to return later in the day with my golf ball retriever, a long telescoping pole with a small metal basket on one end.
Some of the day's hours passed and, in the late afternoon, I once again walked to the course, this time with the ball-getter in hand. I made my way down a slope, through some mud, and to the edge of the island. Once there, I easily retrieved one blue, one yellow, and several white golf balls. Before calling it a successful venture, I scanned the edge of the pond and, sure enough, there were another four or five orphaned balls near the water.
I couldn't allow those poor lost souls to spend another night alone, so I extricated myself from the watery depression in the ground and walked alongside a small stream of water that I needed to cross. I could have walked another thirty or so feet to a small bridge, but I decided to gracefully skip over the water which was then covered with fallen autumn leaves. I skipped, but with little or no grace, and fell into the slippery mud on the far side of the stream.
There was one word which almost immediately came into my brain. No, the word was not, "stupid." That was the second word that made its way into my mind. The first word, and one which over the years I have come to know so very well, was "ouch." That word only surfaces following the sensation of pain and this time the pain was originating in the ring finger of my right hand.
Apparently, and to break my fall, the fingers of my right hand had been sandwiched between the ground and the metal shaft of the ball retriever. I never fully fell to the ground so there was little or no cleanup. After assessing the injury, and checking myself over, I decided that I couldn't leave without those other balls, so I easily, and without further incident, got them.
That night the ring finger of my right hand pained me terribly and turned a particularly dark shade of purple. The swollen finger was obviously damaged, and I began to ponder the question, "Had I broken that finger?" For all the seventy-two years spent on this earth, I had yet to break a bone.
On the morning of the next day, I in a very casual manner mentioned the previous day's painful lesson to my son who in turn mentioned it to his wife, my daughter-in-law, Chris. Chris is a nurse and always looks at things from that perspective. I suppose that's only natural. I, on the other hand, try my best to avoid any and all contact with doctors and hospitals. By the way, Chris makes great cookies.
Anyway, Chris said I would be foolish if I didn't go to a medical facility and have a doctor look at the forlorn finger. I wanted to disregard her recommendation, but I feared I would be making yet another foolish decision. So, that afternoon, I traveled some distance to one of those so-called "Urgent Care Centers." After some time registering, getting some X-rays of the finger in question and waiting in a far too warm room, I met the doctor. His diagnosis: There didn't appear to be a break and he referred to the damage as a "severe strain." I paid the co-payment and left somewhat relieved yet a little put out as I recalled Chris' advice.
If anyone would like to call her and express your opinion regarding her strongly-worded guidance, her telephone number is XXX-XXX-XXXX. Now, come on, you didn't really think I was going to give you her real number, did you?
But wait. I received a call early the following morning from a young lady who said she worked at the urgent care center. She asked if I was Stan Fine, and I said, "Yes." "Well, there is a new development with the X-rays we took yesterday.
"Oh, and what might that development be?"
"Sometime after you left the office, the radiologist looked at the X-rays and said you have a small fracture where the finger meets the hand. I can give you the name and number of a specialist if you like."
"Go ahead," I said.
After rattling off a name and number, the woman asked, "Do you have any questions?"
"How bad does the radiologist think it is," I asked.
"Not very bad. A piece of the bone flaked off. If it were me, I'd tape the finger to the little finger for just a few days."
"Okay, thanks."
So, I took her advice and taped the two fingers together. It looks kind of funny and makes combing my hair challenging, but I guess I'll get through it. After all, it's just one little finger and it will soon be healed; won't it?
I've always been somewhat ambidextrous -- you know, possessing some proficiency with either hand. And boy has that ability come in handy after my misadventure. As nonessential as that ring finger protruding from my right hand may have been, it sure seemed that it came into use more often than I might have guessed. But then, one learns to adapt. And, adapt I am now quite involuntarily compelled to do.
I sometimes wonder, do you all ever get tired of hearing about the many misadventures in my life. Then I think about the more painful side of that question. Well, I'm the one living that haphazard adventure.
Stan Fine is a retired police officer and Verizon Security Department investigator who, after retiring in 2006, moved from Tampa, Fla., to Noel. Stan's connection to Noel can be traced back to his grandparents who lived most of their lives there. Stan began writing after the passing of his wife Robin in 2013. Opinions expressed are those of the author.
"Opinion" - Google News
December 02, 2021 at 10:10PM
https://ift.tt/2ZQGpeI
OPINION: A Nonessential Part - Mdcp.nwaonline.com
"Opinion" - Google News
https://ift.tt/2FkSo6m
Shoes Man Tutorial
Pos News Update
Meme Update
Korean Entertainment News
Japan News Update
No comments:
Post a Comment