In case you’re wondering why I haven’t been writing, well let’s just say, I was invited over to someone’s house for dinner.
Yada, yada, yada, five minutes after arriving, without a stinking drink to blame, without an ounce of grace to my name, I fell. Flat on my face.
No, make that my side. Yeah. My right side. The dominant-hand side.
And, with nothing to catch my fall, no one nearby to hold onto for dear life, I had a most catastrophic, high-highfalutin, slam dunk fall.
You know, the kind that is so embarrassing you hope no one notices? Fat chance. And yada yada yada, for reasons I can’t explain, a member of our dinner party backs her car into mine, leaving me with quite a mess on two fronts. Holy Mother of Mercy!
Dinner was delish, by the way. The best Indian food you can imagine. Totally vegetarian, and don’t get me started on the cauliflower. I savored every bite. With my left hand, that is, because my right hand (did I mention it was the dominant one?) was having a meltdown and I didn’t want to make a fuss.
In fact, nobody knew the pain I felt that night. Tears running down my face? Oh no, I’m just emotional by the kindness you’re showing me.
And thankfully, no one stared incredulously at my arm, which lay motionless, all curled up in the fetal position, kind of like a wounded child, by my side. Sure I yelled, “Don’t touch it!” to my host when she tried to put an ice bag on it and nervously backed away.
“It’s okay,” I said, as shooting pain coursed through my arm. “I’m fine.”
Fine? Yada yada yada, at 2am in Urgent Care, I discovered I had fractured my elbow and would need complete rest for at least 3 weeks. After five weeks, I’m finally on the mend, except pay no attention to this arm of mine that cannot straighten out, not at all.
My L-shaped arm will get better one day, but not soon enough, if you ask me. It’s been rather futile trying to get it back to its old self. Thank goodness, I have a spare. A spare that I feel is deserving of my appreciation. Which is why I wrote a letter to my amazing left arm.
Dear Left Arm,
You are my hero. Though you were never destined to be my dominant arm, in a moment of crisis you stepped up.
And I certainly won’t hold it against you that when catastrophe befell us, you were nowhere to be found. MIA, truthfully.
Without you to help, I came crashing down on the unforgiving cement. Guess you didn’t hear me shout, “All hands on deck!” That meant you.
Oh the pain and agony of it all!
Since that fateful night I have come to appreciate you in ways I could never have predicted. When my right arm could no longer brush my teeth, you figured out how. You also washed my hair and learned other daunting tasks, like cutting my food and feeding me. A bit awkward at times, but you made it work. You’d even walk both dogs, holding both leashes so that said dogs wouldn’t yank on my feeble arm.
A friend dubbed me the One-arm Bandit. Another, called me Calamity Jane. But you never flinched, my brave arm. You stepped up and came through with flying colors.
I will never again take you for granted. So thanks for all the help and for being such a good sport about it. I’d hug you but I don’t want to embarrass you. My disastrous fall put you through enough already.
Now, go get yourself some much-need R&R. You deserve it.