Gratitude Monday: manual dexterity

Today I go in for surgery to treat basal joint arthritis. As my surgeon has explained it to me, he’ll remove the trapezium bone at the base of my thumb, extract part of a tendon in my arm (“which you don’t really need”) and bunch it up in the place of the missing bone.

(I’ve already cycled through all the other treatments—NSAIDs, a splint, cortisone.) I’d been putting this off, but the cortisone has stopped working, so that’s where I am.

I’m not looking forward to having my wrist in a cast—which you can’t get wet—for a month, and then in a splint for another one. But I’ve hit the point where the pain is pretty constant, and is midway along the scale; it’s also becoming increasingly difficult to do regular old things—use scissors, or a stapler; open or tighten jars; pour wine. (Passing platters around the table at Seder a couple of weeks ago was a crap shoot; I was relieved that I didn’t send brisket or soufflés flying onto my neighbors’ laps.)

I spent the weekend prepping the house for going a couple of months one-handed (and off-handed, at that; naturally this is on my dominant hand)—vacuuming, scrubbing the kitchen and bathrooms, laying in groceries that I can prepare without dipping my hand in them. (Dunno how that’s going to work, actually—I can’t make salad dressing without needing to be hosed off afterward.)

So what am I grateful for in all this? That there is treatment for this condition. My surgeon tells me that this is very successful surgery, and since I’ve exhausted all other treatments, it’s good to know that my chances are good with this.

I’m grateful that my surgeon is a very good communicator. After trying out two other orthopedic surgeons (both of whom seemed more interested in racking up insurance payments than in dealing with the condition), this guy is careful, clear and consistent. I believe I’m in good hands.

I’m grateful that I have insurance. It’s not stellar, but even so, it’s better than paying for this thing out of pocket.

I’m grateful that the surgery nurse is on the ball—she’s been competent and clear about what I need to do to prepare for this. She’s also made notes for the anesthesiologist to give me a little some-some to ward off post-op nausea and puking.

I’m grateful that friends will be on call to take me home afterward and get me settled. And I’m grateful that there’s an end in sight for all this pain.