THE UNFORTUNATE DEMISE OF MY RIGHT HAND
From a right-handed mystery writer
After another ten days, I saw the doctor. He announced that it looked good, "Now time to move onto therapy." Hurrah!
He gave me what he called a Buddy Band to hold the two involved fingers together. My hand felt free, finally. Even though the two fingers were tied together, it felt wonderful.
I had already asked around and found an Occupational Therapist (OT) who was a Certified Hand Therapist and made an appointment for the following Monday. (Yes, even before the doctor told me to do so).
The doctor also warned that the exercises the OT would give me would be painful but to stick with it. Good encouragement?
The next 4 four days Lefty, Righty and me had several conversations regarding the need for both hands to work together. I specifically had many of these conversations in front of the refrigerator. To provoke it into anger, to challenge it into a knockdown fight to prove its guilt. Yet it's defying, stiff, stand never wavered.
These four days waiting for OT to begin are long, and I'm bit apprehensive.