Despite the pause, I have been thinking of you. It is slow and frustrating to type with one hand. I usually go very, very fast. Do they still teach typing in school? They don’t in France. It’s crazy, because typing is so much more important today than it was in the 1970s. I see young professionals hunting and pecking with two fingers and think, WTF. I took typing in summer school, not wanting to waste an entire precious year on it, and indeed two months was enough to learn to touch type. Speed comes with practice.
The cast came off and I now wear an articulated brace and have physical therapy three times a week. It’s crazy the things I can’t do with one hand:
- tie my shoes
- attach my bra
- attach my hair
- cut anything–I can wield a knife, but the vegetable or bread or whatever shimmies away
- hang up laundry
- take photos (I tend to drop the phone)
Head, teeth and feet have stood in for the out-of-order arm. I so appreciate the parts that do work. Meanwhile, said arm looks alien. My swollen hand, whose fingers I cannot close (though I try and try, trembling), reminds me of my father’s when he was dying. It’s weird.
That said, I’m making progress and working hard, doing my bicep curls all the time. And stretching, to restore range of motion. Usually I’m good at stretching. Relax, let it go, think of butter melting and spreading across a pan. Effortlessly. Melt. But, wow, the kiné hurts. So much that I nearly passed out this week.
There’s so much going on and at the same time life is in this arm-induced lockdown just as things reopen from the Covid lockdown.
I’m sharing some photos today of wildflowers I spotted on my pre-accident runs. I don’ know what they are. Some would qualify as weeds if found in a yard. Crazy how context influences what counts as beauty.
Better posts coming soon. Bear with me.