No, it's just completely and totally unbelievable that I didn't break the first bone. Didn't even break the skin - wasn't bleeding at all. I regained feeling within a few minutes, and I was moving my hand later that day...not without pain and not very coordinated, but it was moving. Coulda went to work on Wednesday if I absolutely had to, but even coming back on Thursday floored everyone at the office.
And since the one and only thing we do is Worker's Comp, everyone there is fairly knowledgable about these sorts of injuries in particular. Not like I was impressing people with a good story that sounded worse than it was or anything...these people do nothing but injury claims 40 hours a week.
So far, I've had one person complain and wondering why God didn't heal me. Three people now think I'm some form of cybernetic ninja warrior, sent from the future to exterminate humanity and prepare the way for my robotic overlords. (Of course, I rode that for as many Matrix/Terminator II/Empire Strikes Back jokes as I could mine it for.) Everyone else, though? No doubt in their mind that they're acknowledging it as a miracle.
Didn't even have to put any sort of religious spin on it myself, though I gladly gave credit where credit was due when given the chance. But people would come out of nowhere to tell me that they've been praying for me. (Oddly enough, not the folks at the church group I frequent, but I'm not so sure that anyone there even knows about it yet save for James.) But totally random people - family friends that I haven't heard from in years, my parent's regular cashiers at the supermarket, and really random folks like that - made sure to tell ether me or my folks that they were praying for me.
The others, who saw me after the accident? Almost every one, even the not especially religious folks, said that God was definitely looking down on me that day. I was blessed not to have my hand mangled, crushed, broken in multiple locations, or completely severed. With so many medical folks, some gave me detailed descriptions on what should have happened. One woman even admitted that her husband lost three fingers in an identical accident...just got torn right off.
And since I work at a pharmacy, it's really hard for me to complain. Sure, I feel bad. I felt REALLY bad the past few days at work. But I really can't complain. Not when paraplegics and burn victims and such pull into the parking lot to get the dozens of scripts that they've been on for years now. People don't think like that, but when I remind them of what they do for a living, it kind of makes them see the bigger picture here.
So yeah. Kinda sucks that I had to get pinned under a half-ton pickup for twenty minutes to get this kind of message out, but in the end, I can take the pain. Even then I didn't shed a tear, and only screamed when trying to flag people down to get their attention. It hurt like hell, but if it does some good in the grand scheme of things then I really don't mind it a bit.
(but for now, think I'll go pass out. I'm drained.)