The Story of the Wrist

Now that it has a conclusion, here's the lighter side of the story:


Day 1: Fell while painting a set for the Church Christmas play. Took a dive off the stage right onto my wrist. Broke two bones, one right in the joint. Had surgery many painful hours later, pins and an enormous splint/bandage arrangement installed.


Day 2: Dismissed from hospital. Hap showed up with a snappy little strapless number for me to wear home. In December. Actually, very smart, because my arm wouldn't fit through a sleeve.


Day 3: Friends bringing food. I am so blessed.


Day 4: Hap is an angel. He does everything. He is learning to cook all sorts of things.


I am painting lefthanded. That makes me feel better. It takes concentration and makes me sweat even though it's 30 degrees outside.


Typing lefthanded is irksome for the Queen of Impatience. Want to give up punctuation, but too anal to do it.


Week 3: Can't do my own manicure or pedicure. Need a farrier right about now.


Week 4: Have sudden urge to rip the splint off.


Week 5: I would kill for some vegetables. Why don't men like vegetables?


Losing my sense of humor. Tired of being the brave little soldier. Want to be the whining complainer.


Week 6: The pins were removed and I have a jazzy little cast now. Saw my arm briefly and it looks disgusting and it's shedding. Seeing metal sticking out of your arm is disgusting. Still not being able to use my right hand is disgusting.


Started physical therapy. Supposed to hurt myself several ways eight times a day. There goes the day.


Ouch.


I know there is something important I have to do, but I can't read my lefthanded writing in my calendar.


Figured out that I can jam some tools in my cast and use them (nail file). Gives a certain sense of power.


The Pieces of 8 decorated my cast. It's bright pink and starry now. Very cheerful.

Week 7: I think Hap has lost his sense of humor about this. He was very funny at first. He needs to get away from me more.

Can a sistah get a vegetable?

Ladies, just for fun, have your husband put in your earrings sometime. Torture for both parties.

Week 8: My doctor moved to South Africa. Was I that bad? My new doctor had the hand therapists remove the cast and put on a splint, which is way better. How wonderful have some use of an opposable thumb. Still can't type two-handed though. My arm is brown, skinny, bruised and it sheds. Yuck.

Hap is still doing the cooking; the kitchen is a danger area for me. I can't cut, can't open a can, can't peel a potato...he is getting really good though.

I'm driving, adopting a "don't ask, don't tell" policy with my doctor. I can't go on being dependent on Hap for all transportation.

Painting a big seascape lefthanded. I must be nuts.

I can shower and sort of wash my hair now. There goes the only fun from the accident.

Oh, good. Now my knees hurt too. too much inactivity, must walk more. I have been walking on the beach, and there is always some perky young thing with firm thighs jogging by. They usually toss me a pleasant hello, right when I hate them most, then I feel bad about my body and my dark, dark soul.

I need to be punished. I think I'll have Hap put in my earrings.

Week 12: Got my splint off today, oh joy! The wrist is stiff and swollen, but my hand works well. I feel so free! The doctor says I should be back to normal in only five or six weeks (what?). Patience, I must have patience. And speaking of that, the hero of my story is Hap, who is the Soul of Patience (except when driving; then he's the Soul of Jersey). His unfailing kindness and humor made the best of a bad situation, and got us both through it. We have now survived remodeling a house and a broken wrist; I'd say this marriage is very secure.