The things we take for granted
My hand has been in a brace for about half a week now. I've come to think of the padded, molded plastic brace wrapped with an Ace-style bandage as looking a little like a burkah for the hand.
The brace keeps the palm and wrist immobile, and my fingers curled into a sort of hook, a sort of useless hook. I'm allowed to take it off to sleep, but mostly, it stays there, strapped to me, making me feel as though I have a club at the end of my left arm. These are the things I have learned so far living life one-handed.
Dishes are heavy and washing them requires more dexterity than I would have thought. I will not be using my stoneware until the hand is healed again. It's paper plates and plastic utensils for me for the next month.
I can type fairly well with one hand. I can type faster with one hand and a thumb.
Jeans are hard to hoist on with only one hand. Actually, most clothes are.
I can still lift Sophie with one arm. Spanky, not so much. (This comes, I suspect, as a surprise to no one.)
My car windows are not automatic. If I want to open the driver's side window, I have to do it before I hit the road, and I'm stuck with an open window rain or shine until I reach my destination.
I dislike driving one-handed. Quite a bit. Sadly there's a point beyond which I don't have a choice. Watch for me seeking carpool opportunities whenever I can find them.
I can't order more than one item at Starbuck's (or any coffee/tea place). Only one hand to carry it with.
Reading is challenging, too. Being unable to switch hands makes for a tired right hand after a while.
And so on. I'm in this thing until, earliest, June 5. Impatience will probably set in around this Monday morning. No, no, I lie. It's already here.
::deep breath::
I can't change the situation; I must, therefore, change my attitude. Someone get me some chocolate--STAT!
The brace keeps the palm and wrist immobile, and my fingers curled into a sort of hook, a sort of useless hook. I'm allowed to take it off to sleep, but mostly, it stays there, strapped to me, making me feel as though I have a club at the end of my left arm. These are the things I have learned so far living life one-handed.
Dishes are heavy and washing them requires more dexterity than I would have thought. I will not be using my stoneware until the hand is healed again. It's paper plates and plastic utensils for me for the next month.
I can type fairly well with one hand. I can type faster with one hand and a thumb.
Jeans are hard to hoist on with only one hand. Actually, most clothes are.
I can still lift Sophie with one arm. Spanky, not so much. (This comes, I suspect, as a surprise to no one.)
My car windows are not automatic. If I want to open the driver's side window, I have to do it before I hit the road, and I'm stuck with an open window rain or shine until I reach my destination.
I dislike driving one-handed. Quite a bit. Sadly there's a point beyond which I don't have a choice. Watch for me seeking carpool opportunities whenever I can find them.
I can't order more than one item at Starbuck's (or any coffee/tea place). Only one hand to carry it with.
Reading is challenging, too. Being unable to switch hands makes for a tired right hand after a while.
And so on. I'm in this thing until, earliest, June 5. Impatience will probably set in around this Monday morning. No, no, I lie. It's already here.
::deep breath::
I can't change the situation; I must, therefore, change my attitude. Someone get me some chocolate--STAT!