my broken wrist or: i typed this with my left hand only

Ten days ago, I stepped in a puddle, slipped, fell, and snapped my wrist like the twig all bones really are if you stop and think. My hand and wrist were barely connected. My housemate thought it dislocated for a split second before disgust set in with the realization that there was nothing to dislocate: no ball, no socket. This wrist won’t pop back into my hand any time soon. I spent the night in Emergency enjoying the National Health Service: Wait, you mean I don’t have to pay for the ambulance? I’m not taking a taxi to Emergency this time? I also ‘enjoyed’ a morphine drip and a major bone readjustment, whilst crying myself into a right snotty mess in front of the sweetheart who came to keep me company.

I’m really lucky to have such a strong support system here. When my mother spoke to me the first time after the incident, I think there was a measure of shock, or at least surprise, at the relative lack of tears. Over the past week and a half, I’ve gotten to the point where I can do 99% of my daily tasks solo. Just don’t ask me to tie my own shoes or open jars. Also, as learned from experience, I can definitely NOT chop vegetables left and one-handed. I’m really lucky to have people who care for and love me here. Housemates who cook Paella and make me tea and open jars for me. Also importantly, housemates who forgive me my complete and utter uselessness as far as household chores for the next month. Lucky to have someone lovely who distracts me from my irritations and reminds me that it really is  a funny experience to attempt to peel and eat a banana one-handed. And even lucky to have a seminar leader who calls me an ‘aberration of the norm.’ No? Well, I laughed, and it was topical, after all.

 

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