My Wrist Guard Is Missing

The Pain That Stayed

I spent forty-five minutes last Tuesday trying to flip a metal splint upside down inside a beige carpal tunnel brace so I could wear it on my right hand instead of my left. Forty-five minutes. The kind of problem-solving that would’ve taken me twelve seconds if I’d bothered to Google it, but I was too stubborn, convinced I could just figure it out. This is what having a computer science degree gets you: the unshakeable belief that everything is just a logic puzzle you haven’t cracked yet.

The brace itself looks like something a JV bowler would wear—all Velcro and foam and vague medical sadness. I have no idea where the hell it even came from. My best guess is it’s been under my bed this whole time, or maybe I left it at my buddy Rafa’s storage unit, or possibly at Mom’s place during one of those weekend visits that blur together. The geographic mystery of the brace is somehow less pressing than the need for it now because my wrist has moved from “occasionally bothersome” to “squatter w…