So my arm, it’s still boogered up. (technical term) And I’ve got nobody to blame but myself at this point, because apparently I just can NOT follow directions. The PT says “ice it twice daily, exercises twice daily, take anti-inflammatory meds and DON’T USE IT.” But I hear “ice it once a week, and if you remember to do it a second time that same week you deserve a Pop Tart. Do exercises whenever you remember. If you don’t remember at all for one whole day you’ll totally make up for it by doing it 6 times the next day, and don’t worry if doing all those exercises in one day makes the arm hurt more. Anti-inflammatory pills are hard to take, so why even bother. Try to use it more than you think you ever used to use it; in fact use it pretty much constantly.”
The hardest one is to not use the arm. Because what that has made painfully obvious (yes, the pun was intentional) is how much I use my left arm. Apparently my right arm is the brains, but my left arm is the muscle. So if something takes dexterity or agility or any other “-ity’s” I use my right arm, because it is precise and careful and has skillz. (with a Z!) That means I use my left arm for carrying heavy things and pushing stuff and punching the bad guys. And it’s not like I can just stop carrying things or punching bad guys! That way lies MADNESS!
Also I just forget not to use it. I remember eventually, but mostly because my using it hurt something and at that point the remembering is just mockery. My day is filled with this:
- reach for big, heavy hospital door with my left arm.
- “ouch, that hurt my left arm pulling this big, heavy hospital door open!”
- let go of door with left hand, try to open it the rest of the way with my right arm.
- somehow get all tangled up in my own arms.
- look like a complete dork.
- rub my arm because it’s too late anyway and now it hurts.
- wonder how I don’t poke my own eye out with forks more often, given that I’m such a moron.
- buy corks to put on the end of my forks for future eye protection.
- reach for the next big, heavy hospital door with my left arm.
- repeat until crazy/crippled.
The end result is that I usually say something like “oh, I only did my exercises once a day several days.”
“Did you ice?”
“Um, sure! Bunches of times!”
“And have you been trying not to use it?”
“Trying. Yes, I’ve been trying that.”
…but I think she knows I’m full of it, because then she does some “massage” which is actually latin for “hurting, hurting, more hurting and if you hadn’t been a big liar this would feel nice!” Sigh.
(oh, and yes I did use both hands while typing this.)
(oh, and I think I completely forgot to go to my follow-up doctor’s appointment some time this week.)
(oh, and Tuesday I tripped on the same stairs. I didn’t fall, but I’m more sure than ever before that they’re out to kills me.)