Tag: hand surgery

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Post Op Part 2

I don’t do sick well. I’m one of these weird folks who actually likes to work and, if I’m not working, to be doing something in general. So, when my surgeon told me I had ten days post surgery to do NOTHING, I thought I was going to go bonkers!

Thankfully, the first five days, I spent mostly napping, couch surfing, and watching my favorite movies to recover from the anesthesia. Several friends checked in on me to make sure I wasn’t doing anything. (Admonishing me is more like it!) The next five days were spent in San Antonio celebrating my seventh wedding anniversary with my husband; thus, it was exceedingly easy to do nothing since he insisted I be spoiled.

Day 11 was a grand day! I was going back to work! Well . . . sort of. I could only do Santa stuff, no bridal. I could cut stuff out, sort of, but I couldn’t do any hand sewing. Forget writing anything–my scribble was so bad, I couldn’t even read it! Eating . . . well, that was left-handed. Actually, most things were left-handed for the first month, and everything took longer to do. I even impressed myself by learning how to use chopsticks left-handed!

Certain hand and wrist positions hurt, so I backed off and tried something else. Eventually, gradually, I could do the things that hurt. I’m now four months post surgery, and I’m still wondering why I had my knickers in a knot about it. The only thing that still bothers me now and again is writing. Most days, it’s fine, but, sometimes, my hand shakes so badly with a pen that I just have to put it down and come back to it later.

The most important bit is that I’m thrilled there’s no pain anymore. I’m ecstatic that fire needles don’t wake me in the wee hours of the morning anymore! I’m over the moon that I don’t have the numb balloon feeling in my fingers anymore. In fact, I’m so impressed by the results that I want to have the left hand done before the euphoria wears off.

It’s funny how fear keeps us from doing some things that are extremely beneficial to us. If this situation has taught me one thing, it’s that bravery comes in all forms and that I shouldn’t let fear slow me down or keep me from doing something I love.

So the next time something scares you, remember a funny seamstress in Texas who faced her fears and “got ‘R done!” There are plenty of things scarier than surgery … like an EMPTY BOBBIN! Lol!

Until next time, dear readers. May your bobbins be full and your seams straight!

Heather

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Post Op – Part 1

I am not a morning person–not by anyone’s wild stretch of anybody’s imagination. Yet I still thought it was just desserts that my husband and I had to get up at 5:15 the morning of my surgery to appear on time for my procedure. His hip surgery required us to do the same.

We drove to the medical center in the dark, making it up to the surgery center in time to watch the sunrise. It was a brilliant shade of red as it made its way through the various layers of haze on the Houston horizon.

Unlike my last visit to the doctor, this time I was making jokes. I had a captive audience, and, since I have the same kind of macabre sense of humor as many in the medical profession, I had everybody in stitches.

My surgeon came in–in a very good mood–and noticed that I was in a very good mood, so when he signed my right arm (as they all do to make sure they’re working on the correct limb), he wrote in big bold letters, “YES!” I really liked that sentiment and felt very comforted by it.

My husband, of course, stayed with me until they rolled me down the hall. It’s a very surreal experience watching the ceiling tiles go past you overhead. I thought I would be asleep by the time I got to the operating room. No such luck.

As I looked above me at the lights, I remembered another situation where I was wheeled into an operating room. That was 50 years ago when I fell on a glass bottle at the tender age of two and sliced all the way through my right arm, clear to the bone. I was unwilling to stay still for them to stitch it up while I was awake. I even succeeded in escaping a straitjacket. (Insert cheeky joke here.) So, they decided to put me under in order to sew my arm up. Still, I very distinctly remember those lights and the doctors in their surgical gowns and masks. I even remember that one of them wore glasses. He looked down at me and told me everything was going to be all right.

Well, this time, they didn’t have surgical gowns on, but they did have scrubs on, and they did have masks on, and my doctor even wore glasses. I don’t remember what story I was telling my captive audience, but I can pretty much guarantee that I fell asleep midsentence.

The procedure was short and sweet, and I felt like I woke up suddenly in the recovery room. I looked up at the nurse, raised my bandaged hand and wiggled my fingers. No pain. Other than the surgery pain, of course. I was elated. I started monologuing right then and there. The look on the nurse’s face was a mixture of complete amusement and surprise. When I took a breath, she said, “No one has ever woken up like that. “

I laid there with a silly grin on my face, humming the entire time while the nurse filled out paperwork and went to retrieve my husband. A single thought kept running through my head. I’m going to be OK.

We’re ALL going to be ok. Until next time, dear readers. May your bobbins be full and your seams straight!

Heather

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In the Palm of My Hand

All my life, I’ve worked with my hands. Aside from my brain, they’re the best tools that I have in this meat and bone packaging called a body. Back when I was an administrator, there were work-arounds to my not having the use of my hands. However, it’s different now that I am a professional seamstress and designer: unfortunately, there aren’t any obvious band-aid solutions for a seamstress who can’t use her hands.

When my hands started tingling, I didn’t think too much of it. When they started hurting and waking me up in the wee hours of the morning with a pain I like to call “fire needles” (it feels like my hands are on fire and 1,000 wasps are stinging them), I knew something was very wrong.

As I iced my hands repeatedly night after night, I often wondered what I could do if my hands failed me. Many people have gone through the discomfort of retooling for a different career. Some have been forced into it, and some went gladly.

While worrying, I consulted with several friends. One of them suggested a unique brand of physical therapy called the Rossiter System, a method of relieving pain that reminds me of a combination of Rolfing (“a form of bodywork that reorganizes the connective tissues, called fascia, that permeate the entire body,” according to the Rolf Institute) and acupressure. I am eternally grateful to that friend because that physical therapist bought me three more months of use with my hands mostly pain free, but that plateaued out as well. I eventually had to bite the bullet and go see the person I had been dreading . . . the orthopedic surgeon.

I both hated as well as anticipated that doctor’s appointment.

I just wanted to get to the bottom of it. I wanted to hear that there was a solution. I wanted to know that I wouldn’t lose the use of my hands.

I gritted my teeth and smiled as he examined me and told me that I had classic carpal tunnel syndrome. The repetitive motion, plus my small wrists, plus the arthritis in my family, PLUS the general swelling of the joints that comes with menopause made my case very cut-and-dried to him. Apparently, the nerve damage had already started, so he recommended surgery sooner rather than later.

To my credit, I shed no tears until I got to the privacy of my car.

In full panic mode, I called another friend, who, very sensibly, suggested that I talk to other folks who had had the surgery. I’m very good at homework, so that’s exactly what I did over the next few days. Except for one anomaly, everyone had positive things to tell me. The most encouraging of them had his hands done a year ago. They all told me that it behooved me to stop procrastinating and just get it done, that I would be much happier afterwards.

As of this writing, the surgery date has been scheduled. I am currently in the process of cleaning out my inbox, as it were, to make sure everyone is taken care of while I’m recovering. I am cautiously optimistic. I am no longer terrified. I am no longer afraid of losing my livelihood . . . and, let’s be honest, I’m no longer afraid of losing my identity because my tools don’t work.

While I won’t be the bionic woman after surgery, my hand will be better than new. It will be strong again–strong enough to hold the world . . . in the palm of my hand again.

Until next time, dear readers. May your bobbins be full and your seams straight!

Heather