Good news!

Sooo, I guess the doctor/radiologist called my mom earlier today because…


Just really, really bruised…and I must keep the splint on for the rest of the 2 weeks (as planned).


Done and done.



I love my baby cousins sooo much!!! They are so cute! They’re so pretty! They’re so playful and carefree!

I love their baby clothes, their toys, their shoes…of course, I love their smiles and laughter!

I want one. I want one. I want one.

My youngest cousin has the prettiest smile…a never-ending smile. And guess what? Her name is Richelle! It must be a R_chelle thing!!!!!

I can’t wait to have babies!



There’s something so freeing about cutting my own hair.

I’ve cut/trimmed/layered my own hair since about 2 years ago. I don’t want to waste the precious $9-14 on a cut I can do myself.

It started with just layering my hair 2 years ago. Then moved on to “Hmm, what if I cut here?” Then on to “How about this layer here, and this cut here?” Just this year, I said to myself “Okay, I hate my long hair because it keeps hitting my leads in the face when I dance with them…Argh! Cut it all off!” (…not really…just 3-4 inches plus layering) Now, my hair is starting to grow longer again and so I decided to copy Blake Lively’s hair in The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants 2 (which I saw last night…finally). Although my hair isn’t quite as long as hers, I decided to layer it in the front and a bit in the rest of the body of my hair. So, that’s 5 times I’ve cut my own hair? Yay!

I was talking to a friend earlier today (and thought about this last night when I was layering my hair) and this cutting of the hair is a bit like therapy to me. I feel like I’m cutting off the old and starting anew. Things in my life can be altered and, if at first it sucks and seems/looks bad, it’ll change in a few weeks. “Hair grows back,” I keep saying to myself. If I make a wrong cut and cut too much off, who cares? It’s just hair. Dead cells. I don’t understand why people pay so much to have a good cut or color…it’s not going to last. Now, making your own self the barber or salon person…that’s rewarding! Experimenting. Seeing what works. To me, that sort of stuff is fun. I want to know that I’ve done something.

Another thing we discussed was that cutting my hair could possibly be related to “cutting”. However, my cutting is not painful…but more constructive! I’m not harming myself. If anything, I’m bettering myself! So that’s scratched out!

Trying…but it hurts…

I keep trying to use my right pinky…

Lately (this is probably a bad idea) I’ve been taking off my splint a lot more. The first nurse to put it on me molded it lower on my pinky/hand/wrist/arm…so, when I went to Bristol Park Medical Group last Friday, the doctor placed it a bit higher. Now, the splint is placed rather uncomfortably along my Ulna bone (the bone that projects out of the top of one’s wrist) and whatever bone is opposite that one on the inside of one’s wrist (the one connected to the pinky). Ouchie! Yup it hurts like crazy, because it feels like needles are shooting up my pinky and ringer fingers making them go numb. Thus, making me loosen my splint which isn’t good anyway. Also, I had a performance with my a cappella group on Wednesday and we did awesome choreography and I didn’t want to be the lame one and only use one hand. Besides, it’s not my wrist that’s injured! While doing the choreography, it’s quite amusing how we need to straighten our fingers…but my pinky doesn’t straighten all the way… I can kind of hide it…kind of.

I need to get myself together and finally finish my Writing 39C, but that involves typing…do you know how difficult it is to type with a splint on and a wrap that covers your pinky and your ring fingers? Super difficult! So I take it off and, because I’m used to playing piano, I try to type with all my fingers…completely forgetting that my pinky doesn’t quite bend that way (just yet). It doesn’t hurt when I move my pinky, but it does hurt when I try to press something with it. I am, however, getting used to typing with every finger except my pinky…it’s just weird.

You should try it!

Temporarily handicapped

It’s not even funny how handicapped I am. I’ve realized that everything I do involves the use of my pinky. I’m right handed and this is definitely a life-changing experience. The difficulties started with signing ER documents with my left hand…it’s difficult brushing my teeth with my left hand, it’s difficult changing my clothes (I couldn’t take my bra off!) with one available hand, it’s difficult typing with only my left  hand (although I’m getting faster and more accurate), and it’s very difficult taking showers. I wrap the cast in a bag, but it still manages to get a bit wet… =/ Oh, I don’t even think I have to mention how difficult it is to put on makeup in the morning…

I feel bad that I can’t do the dishes or my laundry… I have no idea how I’m going to do my laundry. I’ll figure it out.

However, I guess the plus of all this is that I’ve been getting everywhere earlier than usual because I have the feeling that getting ready will take longer than usual. This is definitely something I’ve been trying to work on for awhile.

The hospital visit…

All right, so I “manned up” to the pain and dealt with it. No tears, no screaming, no gasping…in fact, somewhat calmness. Freaking out wouldn’t help anything, so why freak out? It’s a done deal and there’s no “command + Z”-ing it.

I really wanted to play volleyball and basketball, but I didn’t get the chance to. I stood watching, holding the ice to my pinky, hoping the pain would stop so that I could play sports. Sad day… =/

A few hours passed and I went to rehearsal for the swing dance team for our performance that Thursday. Of course, something like this would happen 2 days before a performance! Just my luck… I went through all of rehearsal with a genuine smile on my face until my partners would accidentally grab too hard or accidentally hit my pinky. I didn’t have a splint on yet so anything that came into contact with the hand just made me close my eyes and breathe heavily. I kept dancing through the pain because that’s how I learned to perform. You keep going because the show must go on!

After rehearsal, two of my teammates took me to Hoag Hospital in Newport and we got  my hand checked out. I had a male nurse named Andrew. It seemed like he was new because he kept forgetting things and had to come to me, then leave again, then return, then leave, etc. This must’ve happened around 15 times!!! It was quite hilarious! He must’ve been super tired since I arrived around midnight and all of this occurred within 1 1/2 hours. I was taken to the back room to get an x-ray taken of my hand. The technician placed my pinky/hand into three positions with the last being the most painful. He told me to put all my fingers down except my pinky which he placed straighter than the swollen-ness and the pain allowed. I was taken back to the spot I was originally waiting and my friends were still there. I’m glad they weren’t asked to go back to the waiting room because I would’ve been so bored. The male nurse came back and began to wrap my hand…then took it off and re-wrapped it. This took more than a couple tries. The doctor came back to tell me what he saw in my x-rays and, apparently, I had a fractured proximal phalanges right at the knuckle that connects the pinky to the palm. Great. At the point, my pinky was super swollen and was turning blue. The splint was finished and I was given discharge papers to describe my injury, the splint, the cast I’d have to get, the follow-up doctor, and the medication…I got a prescription for VICODIN! I couldn’t believe it! I still haven’t gone to a pharmacy and I probably won’t at all. I don’t want to be “loopy” and I don’t want to get addicted. I’d rather take the least amount of drugs, so Advil is definitely my friend. 600mg every 4-6 hours is fine with me. Besides, the pain isn’t all that bad. It’s manageable.

My friends and I left the hospital around 1:30 AM. One friend left, but I was a bit hungry, so the other one took me to Jack In the Box. Nothing like a “nutritious,” late-night meal after an unnecessarily lengthy. hospital visit.

My 5 stages of pain…

First stage: SHOCK. My right pinky finger was numb… My right ring finger was a bit scraped up and there pieces of the little grains on a baseball field in the cuts. It hurt, but I couldn’t tell how much pain there was yet.

Second stage: AWARENESS. As I gazed upon my injuries, I started to see more random tiny cuts in other places…my right wrist, my left elbow, my left palm… I couldn’t move my fingers (partially because I didn’t want them to fall off) because of the pain, I knew I couldn’t play anymore. I washed everything, got ice, took Tylenol, and jealously sat and watched my friends playing sports and having fun. I guess it didn’t really help that everyone kept asking me to move the finger to see if it was broken. When I showed that it could move on its own, everyone was relieved…everyone but me. The choir director walked by, looked at it, and immediately declared it was broken. Gee, thanks for freaking me out and adding to my distress.

Third stage: PAIN. Self-explanatory.

Fourth stage: SADNESS. As I was walking around with friends and ended up kicking the volleyball that everyone else was bumping and setting, I soon realized how tragic my situation was. Not only was I afraid that I wouldn’t be able to fully do the little choreography there was for my a cappella performance (which is next Wednesday), I am also on the swing team on campus and our performance is this Thursday. Of course, we have an aerial that includes the use of both hands…not to mention that partner dances involve using both hands. The sadness that came was directed toward both of those groups. I practiced so hard, and then this happens, and we won’t look our best now…because of me. My love for sports has once again failed me (I didn’t make my high school teams).

Fifth stage: ACCEPTANCE. I felt like I could cry, butI figured what’s the point? My tears won’t heal my hand, my tears won’t make my “teammates” happy, my tears won’t help anything…so I did what I usually do and held it all in. I can’t change the fact that it happened and I now must live with it.