"But I don't have a fracture," I protest in the doctor's office as I await an (by me unwanted) X-ray. I've had plenty of radiation on my right side over the past year and I'm not anxious for more. "Yes, you do," replies the nurse and sure enough when I see the full X-ray, there it is. Hairline, but still definitely there.
Meanwhile, I can’t shovel my steps, make a salad, or even wear a glove on my right hand. The morning routine takes forever, and the smallest domestic chore can quickly spiral out of control.
For example, I can’t pill the cat with a busted wrist. So I’ve been powdering his meds and mixing them in with his food. This does not go over well, and he eats gingerly around the granules (don't ask). Which is why the other day while sitting in my lap with no warning – and without his meds - he abruptly hurls his entire breakfast onto my computer keyboard and mouse. Try cleaning that up with one hand.
One of the small compensations of an injury like this is the enhanced opportunities for reading which a wait in doctors’ offices provides. Apparently I’m not the only one who feels that way because during my last visit, I take my eye off my kindle for a split second and before you can say Depuyten’s Contracture, it is gone.
I’m a very trusting soul and it’s difficult for me to believe that someone who actually saw me in my injured state, walking around wearing an oven mitt, could possibly have piled on. But when I get home to de-authorize, I am confronted with the unvarnished truth: I am not pitiable, I am simply a mark. On my account, I find a slew of new books, starting with “Secrets of a Side Bitch 4 (yes, there were three others) the three volume set of “50 Shades of Grey.” How many volumes does a girl need (I assume my thief is female)?
For a moment I wonder if maybe she is onto something. Maybe I should embrace this new library, turn to beach reading during this time, and not expect too much. But beach reading without a beach doesn’t have the same appeal. And where would I put the umbrella?
There are signs of hope I guess; I can use a computer keyboard with two hands now. And one doctor actually told me that if I kept the splint on while riding, I could be back on the bike in two weeks. But this is a guy who doesn’t know from potholes. I could seriously set myself back.
No, healing takes time. There’s no way around it. Meanwhile, think of all the things I can look forward to? Wearing pants with a zipper, shoes with laces. Flossing. Using an oven mitt for the oven. And at last, cycling. Meanwhile, I’m going to have to suck it up.
Long-time New Yorkers will recall a little hole-in-the-wall on 7th Avenue South in the 80s called “Out Of Our Drawers.” They specialized in piercing and piercing-related paraphernalia. They had a motto I try to keep it in mind as I slog for hours through tasks I once did without thinking. Because I have three weeks to go, and how do I want to spend it? When you come right down to it, attitude is everything. Or, as Out Of Our Drawers would say:
Your choice: with or without pain.