For the second time in my life, I'm one-armed. One-armed does not refer to anything mob-related or have to do with malfunctioning weapons. The sad fact is that I keep falling. And, in the process of falling, I injure my shoulder. Last time it was a ligament (right shoulder); this time, it's a rotator cuff repair (left shoulder). Tack on my hip replacement and finger surgery, and I'm a regular bionic woman.
I have discovered from multiple trips to the orthopedist, that the shoulder is a very unstable joint. The top of the long bone in your arm sits tentatively in a skeletal cup, and is anchored by muscles that originate in the back and chest. Keeping these muscles fit and strong is not a high priority for many people (note many fellow humans with flabby upper arms and sagging posture), and a fall can easily "unseat" the bone from its precarious perch. No championship tennis for me: just a plain head-long crash.
So, back to the problems of one-armedness (one of which is spelling it). Have you ever contemplated the elegant concert of your hand and arm movements? One always complements the other, until one arm is encased in an immobilizing sling (and a pretty ugly immobilizing sling, it is). From the inside out (applying undergarments, teeth flossing, blow drying, jeans buttoning, shoe tying), the whole process of readying oneself for the world is dominated by teamwork. (Although, I would recommend the benefits of sucking in the stomach for the jeans buttoning exercise. Almost as good as sit ups.)
Then, there's eating. Today, at the farmers market, my friend wanted me to split a two-for-one melon deal. Ever try cutting anything with one arm/hand? A melon (or any cylindrical object) can roll a long way before I'd catch up to it. I'm concentrating on hand-held foodstuffs like peaches ('tis the season), plums, cherry tomatoes and corn (everyone needs a challenge). And, I can see a lot of soup in my future. On the other hand (bad pun), half the capability will hopefully mean half the calories, and some good may come of that.
Sleeping through the night is impossible. First, the sling takes up half the bed. Then, you have to sleep sitting up, propped uncomfortably against a banquette of pillows (sounds more romantic than it is). Entering and exiting bed involves a whole body pirouette that I've yet to master. So, I'm looking at weeks of catnaps on my couch to make up the all night wrestling with my sling.
In the meantime, I am giving thanks for my many lovely friends who have suffered with me through the drug days (truly awful; just say no to Percocet), and continue to offer generous assistance on many levels. My laundry is picked up and delivered, my hair is wash and blown dry weekly, my daily bread is regularly supplemented with home-cooked meals. In some ways, being quasi-disabled has been a vacation from drudgery. In others, it's a constant reminder that a whole body is a blessing and a responsibility. Use it right and use it well.
With any luck, I'll have learned that lesson this time 'round.
