Thursday, February 4, 2010

Slow Going

Slow going with a temporarily useless right hand, but I am determined to write. One learns a great deal when incapacitated. My right hand seems to be telling me something since I dislocated my little finger last fall. Patience, understanding, humility all whap you right in the face when someone else cares for you.

The night before the surgery I stayed with my son and his new bride. That alone should scare any bride off. She was wonderful. She was waiting when I came out of my deep, wonderful sleep. “Wake up, Pam. Pam, wake up.”
“Go away. I am sleeping in a warm bed with warm air hooked to my paper gown filling it with warm air. Shhhhh. I’m sleeping.” No one listens.

“How do you feel?”

I’m full of drugs and surrounded by warm air. Go away.
Vaguely I remember the surgeon showing me his handiwork. A line of black stitches seemed neatly stitched across the hand. “Hm. Nice stitching. Wonder who owns the hand.”

“Your daughter-in-law can help you dress.” Well, that was not going to happen! That was not an image I would wish on anyone.
I came home on Tuesday. Slow moving. All is going well. Friends have brought in food. In fact, I’m eating better than usual. My fingers are beginning to move more easily so driving in another couple days looks hopeful.

I am humbled. I am blessed. I am back.

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