Adapting

Not very graciously, it must be said. My finger hurts and it aches all down the length of my arm. I have no expectation that this conservative treatment will fix the issue (a bare minimum of reading gives the impression that it will never be back to normal) and in the meantime, I am finding how hard it is to work with just one hand.

Washing is hard. Cooking is hard. Shampooing my hair is pretty bloody impossible. Even having a shower is fraught with the ever present fear that water and soap will whisk off the cast before I notice. I am letting myself get dirtier and smellier by the day because it is so hard to manage any activity with confidence; that damn cast has come off so many times and each time I can hear a mental alarm clock ‘DING!’ in my head, happily reminding me that I’ve just set my healing clock back to zero.

Perfectly reasonable, then, that I am as bad tempered as it is possible to get and I don’t want to play nice with even my nearest and dearest.

So, I am going to do some more wilderness backpacking, where I don’t have to put on a façade for anybody. Productive enforced down time is the key, I think.

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