In a previous blog entry, not that long ago, I said that I was going to spend more time writing. I had hoped to be offering you a lot more frequent blog entries. I didn't know at that time that my hands would flare up and give me another reason to delay writing. I attribute the flare-up to the aftereffects of the move out of the office. I may not have carried boxes or furniture, but I have spent the past 4-6 months sorting through 23 years of books, papers, and miscellaneous things I call "the ghosts of offices past." My hands got seriously overworked and now need even more profound rest.
In early May my left hand got so bad that I couldn't use it at all. In particular, I couldn't use my thumb (officially, DeQuervain's tenosynovitis). I surrendered to having an injection, which helped considerably - another surprising foray into an emergency western medical treatment! It's so strange to find myself in this predicament. Ah, more opportunities to let go of identities that don't serve me. Sometimes I ride the fine line between positive thinking and denial, and have to pause and ask myself to question what I really need. I want Osteopathy or acupuncture or some herbal remedy to do the trick, but I don't always get to decide which approach will bring the most relief. It's helpful for me to suspend judgment over treatments that might help, especially when I've tried every possible alternative.
It's now a whole year since my right hand surgery, and I'm thankful I had it done. My right hand is about 70% better. I have nerve damage (some numbness and diminished strength,) which seems like it might be permanent. I'm open to continuing to improve, which my hand surgeon admits is in the realm of possibility, but it's unlikely that I'll regain 100%. Time will tell.
I'm humbled to have such severe problems with my hands that nothing more subtle than a needle or a knife helps.