I have been out of my cast for two weeks now, using the squeeze ball while I read, and still have virtually no strength in my right hand. You should see me open a can. I squeeze the handles of the can opener with my left hand to puncture the lid, but don’t have the strength to turn the gizmo with my right to actually open the can. Once I have punctured the can, I have to turn everything around, so I can hold the handles with my right hand and turn the knob with my left. The Squire says it looks as if I’m trying to do it behind my back. Starting the car involves reaching through, or under, the steering wheel to turn the ignition.
But I get it done, by gum!
Going to the Y requires careful planning. It takes both of us to get me into my bathing suit. (Try it with one hand. Go ahead; I dare you.) After water aerobics, The Squire and I use the family dressing room to get me back out of the suit and into street clothes. This process is complicated by the fact that both of us get the giggles. It’s a lot like trying to put pajamas on an octopus.
One of the women at church had the same operation about six months ago, and today I was comparing notes with her during coffee hour, and it looks as if we are in for a long haul. She still has very little strength in her thumb, and her wrist is weak. She had lost feeling in her thumb, which I never did, but hers is gradually returning.
I am very, very lucky that this all happened to my right hand, and I am left handed. I cannot imagine not being able to use my dominant hand.
And I would not have had this surgery done if I had known.
thisendoftheswamp 