I went to the orthopaedic witch-doctor yesterday for the two-week roentgenogram. Turns out that I haven't broken a metacarpal after all.
I've broken two.
Not only did I fracture the fifth metacarpal, but also the fourth.
To add insult to injury, I also dislocated both the fourth and third where they connect to the wrist.
Doc peered at the screen for a long time, then asked, "Are you sure you didn't hit a wall, or the floor, or something?"
"Maybe missed and tagged a long bone, or the skull?"
"Wow." Long contemplation. "Use a stick next time."
Five more weeks until they cut this damned thing off. It may survive until then.