Sunday, December 13, 2009

One Final Done: Tax Shmax

I can't believe how quickly it sprung up on me. Finals started on Monday and I finished my first on Thursday afternoon. I was supposed to take it on Wednesday with the rest of my class but thanks to November throwing a few extra surprises at me, particularly at my right hand, accommodations were made. I was scheduled to take the final on Thursday instead, all by myself with some extra time to make up for my recent handicap as well as having spent the last four weeks completely wasted on a concoction of medications that I'm quite positive I wasn't supposed to take together (I met a lot of people that probably don't really exist during the month of November). These additional accommodations were very appreciated although they did not come without drama unfortunately; another topic for another day.

The first final was Federal Income Tax Law (several of you just fell asleep). I was crammed into a conference room all by myself for six straight hours with nothing but my laptop, a bag of granola bars, an apple, vitamin water, and every piece of paper I could find that had any information about tax law on it. I spread out and went at it . . . and at it . . . and at it, until it started to feel like I was going into a different day. The most depressing point was when I started worrying about time and I looked up at the clock and saw that I still had a good four hours to finish. The good news is that my hand seemed to hold up pretty well; minimal pain and decent accuracy--one day I will be whole again.

I started physical therapy this week, or as I like to call it "therapy." I was really excited to go in and talk about my problems with someone while they massaged my hand. I would be lying if I said I didn't picture physical therapy to take place in a white robe, cucumbers in my eyes, laying back while someone asked me "and how does that make you feel" as I complained about all my trials. Sort of a mixture between a spa, psychologist, and church I guess. Unfortunately physical therapy was painful and not very social. Plus it was earlier in the morning than I cared for. Not to mention, it was bizarrely cold in there. Quite the disappointment. Not at all the moral boost I was hoping to send me into my tax final.

And now here we are. My study group and I spent the last couple of days crammed into a small study room frantically attempting to learn an entire semester's worth of Evidence for our final tomorrow. Fingers crossed.

This was the room I took my tax final in. You'll notice I had my stuff spread all down the table. I stood for most of the test, walking around so I could consult every source known to man before responding to any questions.
Here's a somewhat blurry X-ray of my hand. You can see the four screws going down my bone: the latest additions to my body.
~It Just Gets Stranger


  1. I'm glad you were able to take your final and all the extra time might have been a good thing...more time to consult your new imaginary friends you made in November for the right answer.

  2. It could have been worse! You could have had to bring your one year old in for a doctor's appointment and been terrified about what the doctor was going to say because you haven't taken her in for her well child check-ups (because the insurance doesn't pay - not because I'm a bad mom!)
    I was TERRIFIED!!!!!

  3. Tee-hee-hee. I had surgery on my ankle a few years ago. They had me on percocet which I could only take at night because it made me so sick. I also had to sleep on the living room sofa because my cast was so huge and got tangled in the sheets of my bed which then sent pain shooting through my entire being. Not good. I well remember the night, though, that I woke up with a start in the middle of the night convinced that there were boogie men standing on the front porch trying to come in and eat me. That was the end of the percocet!

    Oh, my OUCH on your hand. That was some kind of fall you had. So are you going to be able bend your finger at the lower two knuckles anymore or will they be fused with the screws? Have fun with airport security for the rest of your life now, too. My dad's chest is wired together and he's set off many a metal detector.

    Yah, enjoy the blissfulness of "therapy". While if you go to the right place the chit chat does make it bearable, just you wait until they make you actually start working that hand of yours. You can't yet imagine how much pain squeezing a stupid ball can cause.

  4. You must have never been to physical therapy before?!? I used to go with Joseph. Anything but relaxing as the "slave driver" therapists made him exercise until he winced and cried in pain. I do not envy your upcoming "therapy" sessions, anything but mentally therapeutic, they are.

  5. I don't know how you do it.

    Your new bionic hand will make traveling and going through metal detectors lots of fun!