Okay, this is for anyone who doesn't already know what's been going on with me for the last eight weeks. It's a Secret Origin of sorts - a tale of inexplicable happenstance triggering a double pendulum of chaos and transformation.
Well, not exactly - but it's a tale of something annoying happening to me and, consequently, me being inconvenienced over a long period.
So anyway, on the Saturday night of this year's BICS, I suffered an injury. It was a strange, unexpected and entirely trivial incident, with no definable cause or warning. I was in the process of demonstrating an uncanny ability to bend just the top joint of each of the fingers of both hands while keeping them otherwise entirely straight. Any coin magicians among my largely imaginary readers might recognise this physiological quirk as being the prerequisite for Stanley Collins' "The Jumping Sixpence" sleight variation, as described on p.338 of JB Bobo's "New Modern Coin Magic (1966)."
No? Nobody? Okay, then - moving on...
Anyway, this is the same, dumb stunt I've been showing people since I was five years old, and I have to say it's the first time I've ever snapped a fucking finger tendon doing it.
In fact, I've spent the last two months explaining to doctors and orthopaedists that there was no impact injury to the finger at all. The most strenuous activity I'd undertaken with the hand that day had been signing a set of contracts for Markosia. Still, the undeniable fact is that I snapped a tendon and the top section of my left (dominant) ring finger hooked over and refused to straighten.
Undeniable, that is, except by the retarded fuckhat at Accident & Emergency who kept me waiting four hours for a misdiagnosis of Trigger Finger. It took another two days and an angry phone call from my GP (about whom I have zero complaints in all this) to get that verdict overturned and to score me the Mallet Splint that I've worn for the last fifty days.
Anyway, the splint was a total joy, as you can imagine. At no point during the recovery period was I permitted to let the fingertip droop or bend, as to do so for even one second (as was made very clear to me) would set me back to square one with an increased chance of surgery.
One thing that this experience has taught me is that I have lived an entirely trouble-free life so far. I must have, for something so trivial to have annoyed me so deeply. Admittedly, as a magician, having a key finger out of action is a legitimate pisser. Even typing is fiddly and slow. Today, the splint finally came off, and I was informed that I'd never be able to form a tight fist with my left hand again.
Bollocks to that - I live to make fists with my left hand. They can't take that from me - they'll have to pry it out of... eh, fuck it - make your own joke. I'm too pissed off.
So, the bottom line right now is that the finger healed slightly too well. The new tendon is way too tight and I can't bend the joint past a painful, swollen 15 degree angle. Supposedly, there's some kind of rehab I can do (and by "rehab" I assume they mean "Rock Band 3"), so I'll get to that as soon as they set me up with the local hand specialist. As I always said, I'm more interested in making a complete recovery than a quick one. Until that happens, the horrifying legend of SPLINTFINGER will lumber on.
They say he only wears it at night...
(...and occasionally during strenuous activity)