My right ring finger was broken July 4. I had surgery on July 10. It sucks.

You might ask yourself, well, why did you do that?

Truth be told, I wanted out of yard work and this seemed a good way.

Wait.

Bear attack.

Actually, I needed an excuse to get my prescriptions refilled.

Would you believe I'm a lousy logger?

Hmm, I've heard pain is temporary, but glory is forever. Plus, chicks dig scars.

No? I was told if I got the adamantium spikes I'd get sideburns and awesome abs.

Or the orange soap from surgery is a great cover for an out-of-control Cheetos habit.

Shark Week.

Safe and sane, my booty.

Which of these is true? Your call, but I will say the truth is in there.

Truthfully, I learned a bunch of interesting things as a result of this little adventure.

For example, there's an awesome iPhone app called Dosecast that was extremely helpful keeping my meds straight when I couldn't think straight.

Apple's Magic Trackpad let me continue working when the splint prevented me using my mouse.

Siri takes decent dictation that allowed me to use my phone.

Doctors are magicians. The five pieces of the bone in my finger were re-assembled without cutting my finger open. They're also rather sadistic. I have metal pins sticking out of my hand.

I have a really weak constitution. Not only did they have to put me fully under general anesthesia for a lousy broken finger, I darn near passed out at my first physical therapy session.

And finally, there should be a law against letting Amy take video of me in recovery.

Needless to say, I have no plans to do this again any time soon.