OK, it doesn’t sound like much, but today I managed to touch my thumb to the tip of my pinky.
During coffee hour after church this morning, I was showing my hand to a lady in the congregation who had this same thumb surgery a year ago, pointing out some of my aches and pains and asking it they were normal. I have absolutely no grip between my thumb and my forefinger; I couldn’t even pull a number at the deli counter Friday night, and she said it had taken her about six months. In the meantime, she said I should try picking up pennies with my right hand.
The Squire and Fr. M were there, and I was demonstrating how far I could reach with my thumb. The index finger and middle finger are no problem, but my ring finger is tricky, and my pinky is just about impossible. I held up my hand and they were about a quarter inch apart. With a mighty effort, I managed to make them meet, and the pain almost brought tears to my eyes. Fr. M reached across the table and took my hand in both of his. “Can you do that again?” I managed, but it wasn’t easy.
“I can see the tendons in your arm and feel the tension in the entire hand. You need to get a cortisone shot and some PT on this thing.”
So tomorrow I shall call my doctor and tell him my rector says I need physical therapy. Actually, Fr. M is an EMT, so it’s perfectly reasonable, and The Squire has been hounding me about it, too.
But I did manage to get my fingers together! Ta, dah!
thisendoftheswamp 