Staying in touch.

About time, you might think.  And, also, where have I been?

There are without a doubt phases in the recuperation from a great injury.  There’s initial elation, that you have survived.  Then there’s a ton of debilitating pain.  Then there’s a lump of hope that sticks in your throat.  Then there’s the reality that you are not ever going to be the same again.  Then there’s being very cheerful in the face of reality and so on, until you settle into the new normal.

When I kept saying at the outset that I wouldn’t be able to do Miniatura, there was always the hope that I was exaggerating and I would be perfectly well able to work from morning to night for a few months then get up at five twice and work my socks off till I fell asleep in the chair at nine, no problem.  I now realise that not only could I not do that in a couple of weeks from now, I don’t even know if I’ll be able to do it in the spring six months from now.  I still cannot lift my right arm under its own steam more than a couple of inches.  There is no way I could drive to the NEC, lift the stock into the building, cover the table with a cloth, put up the lights and the stands and place several hundred items by hand at eye level.  I am effectively disabled and simply cannot do it.

It’s very depressing.  On the other hand, (the only working one)  this week’s mystery object.  What is this?


Time’s up.

Yes it’s the knot from the top of my arm where the stitches finish.  It has been driving me nuts, catching on clothing and resisting all attempts to chop it off with scissors.  It finally fell off on its own.

The scars look OK.  Quite thin but sometimes sunken in the middle.

The main reason for not writing, however, is that I was sinking into the slough of despond and decided to get exercising again, other than the physio, which I do for about ten minutes three or four times a day.

First time on my twist stepper for only half an hour and I had to go to bed afterwards.

Yesterday we went to a supermarket in the next town.  The cold through the open car window made me ill, the cold from the chiller cabinets made me worse, I accidentally picked up a shopping bag and carried it into the house with the bad arm, force of habit, and generally needed painkillers and to sit doing absolutely zero for several hours after the trip.

I’m off to the physio again today.  I need to ask if the bone is healing, what else I can do to get mobile and why oh why oh why does my blinking thumb hurt so much and why does lifting it with the other hand help?

But getting moving is helping with my mood.  No pain, no gain.  (If you have none be so happy.)


Will I be well enough to even visit?  Details at

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One Response to Staying in touch.

  1. Jeanne says:

    Oh. I’d offer to drive you and lift things and be a general dogsbody, but — well, alas for both of us, I guess.

    Next time! —

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