The thing about eating dinner with your favorite hand therapist is that you sometimes learn that a small football injury that you thought was a jammed joint is really Mallet Finger.
Bummer for my guy. But at least he’ll get to spend some more time with his favorite hand therapist!
And there’s nothing quite like walking out of dinner, across the parking lot to CVS and having your favorite hand therapist splint your finger before everyone said goodbye for the evening. It really was the perfect ending to an incredibly bizarre day!