… or ‘B is for Bloody Annoying Break’. Just as I’m mulling over what my entry beginning with ‘B’ will be I go and get what’s called a ‘boxer’s fracture’ in my right hand. God has some twisted sense of humour, I’ll tell you that. 

According to my good friend “Mr. Wikipedia”, “A boxer’s fracture, also known as the brawler’s fracture, is the common name for a fracture at the neck of the fifth metacarpal bone… usually caused by the impact of a clenched fist with an immovable object, such as a wall, a set of wooden stairs, a cement floor, or, most commonly, a skull. The pinky knuckle tends to lead the rest of the knuckles in a hard punch, and the knuckle compresses and snaps the neck of the metacarpal bone.”

What the above description fails to mention is that a boxer’s fracture typically takes about 6 weeks to fully repair itself. We’re literally in ‘worst case scenario’ territory here. I walked into the hospital’s A&E waiting room expecting some muscle trauma, or at the very worst, a minor hairline fracture. I certainly didn’t expect the doctor to tell me I’ll be lugging a stupid cast around for 6 weeks!

I’m not going to go into how I incurred the injury, but let’s just say it’s not called a ‘boxer’s fracture’ for nothing.

No cycling, no Playstation, no writing, and no gym makes Jack a sad boy…