My Left Hand

I have a new appreciation for my left hand. Marla Therapist has put me on a month of total thumb rest. It’s only been splinted for about four hours, and already I am fascinated to observe how essential it is to every single thing I do. Even though I’m ‘right-handed.’ Sigh. But things could be worse. I haven’t lost sight of the heat dome over the northwest, and send my loving thoughts to all those I know and those I don’t know suffering in that this week; nor has the great good fortune that I live in a single-story mud hut that was built to California (read earthquake resistant) adobe code escaped my notice. I tremble with sorrow over the condo catastrophe.

So finding out the extent of the damage to my left hand from that injury a month ago was challenging, but easy to accept. OK, it can be managed, it will get better, it’s not even close to fatal. (Death can be a friend, reminding us of its absence.) And already I’ve noticed a completely different relationship with my entire left arm, all the way through the shoulder into the neck. I’ll be exploring that tomorrow with Kristian Therapist. I’m so grateful to have these two nurturing women attending to the painful effects of this aging body, with their compassion and expertise. I’m grateful to Medicaid for providing me with their healing services. You know how much more productive a citizen I can be with two hands.

In light of this new restriction, and of the challenges of typing with a splinted hand, my gratitude practice will feature less verbage and more images for the foreseeable future. May you be well. May you be happy. May you be safe and free from harm.

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