My journey as a long distance runner who started the sport later in life.
I haven’t written about my right hand for a very long time. I originally started this blog because I broke three fingers on my right hand and I needed a means to vent and reflect to work through the injury (see Fingergate). After two surgeries and a lot of therapy I was hoping it would get better, but based on how it felt I was unconvinced that it ever would.
Eventually my physiotherapist told me that there was nothing more he could do to help me to gain mobility in my joints and so I gave up. It’s been sort of half a hand ever since. I have a pincer grip between my index finger and my thumb, and the other three fingers are very stiff and their six joints barely bend. It didn’t seem worth writing about any more, so this became my running blog (see Leslie Runs).
Today, while cooking dinner for my husband and children, I sustained a cut to the one good finger on my right hand. It was deep and the blood gushing. The family was out at the local splash pad, and with them, the first aid kit. I flushed it with cold water for several minutes and it still bled. I applied pressure to it and it eventually stopped. I started cooking again because all the meals were half done and it started bleeding again. I applied pressure to it again and it was still bleeding upon their return. Thankfully they were able to fix me up with a Minion bandage (Exhibit A) and help with the remains of the dinner tasks. Happy Fathers’ Day, honey! The dinner was actually decent in spite of it all (Exhibit B).
The physical pain of the cut was immediate, but it dissipated rather quickly. The most painful thing about this hand, the thing that is present in all of my days but relatively hidden to everyone else, even my family, is that I just can’t do all of the things I used to be able to do. Cooking used to be a pleasure (see LeslieFoodie) that I now try to get out of whenever possible. Small household repairs and gardening used to give me a sense of accomplishment, and now I mostly feel disappointed in myself during them if I can do them at all. The maker movement grows large in education just as this hands-on, minds-on constructivist teacher can no longer participate with ease.
I don’t talk about it much, and I remain resilient, but I just thought somebody should know, it’s been an ongoing challenge ever since. The hand still doesn’t work and it impacts every fiber of my being every day. Thank you for caring to read until the end.