As presaged on
Monday, yesterday the cast came off. And—considering the
90-degree-plus-about-105%-humidity—not a moment too soon. If there is anything
slimier than the inside of a cast on sweaty skin, I do not want to know about
it.
The PA cut through the carapace and pulled away
the shell, then I had a proper old scrub of the skin.
There’s some tenderness, but no pain; most of
it is apparently due to the four weeks’ constriction inside the cast. And I’m
peeling skin off like I used to after a day at the beach.
My surgeon is quite pleased with my healing—he gave
me a referral for OT, but he said I don’t have to use it unless I really feel I
need it. (Glad about that, because I was not looking forward to the $40 a pop
co-pay.) Ditto the thumb brace; better that I just get back to (careful) normal
movement.
The first thing I did—before even the surgeon
came into the room—was take out pens and start marking up some work documents.
I cannot tell you what a joy that was, even
just with the crappy office pen. Ditto pouring a glass of bubbly and holding it
in my right hand to drink. I came home (although operating the gear shift was a
bit problematic; I expect that’ll improve) and took a shower without having to
stick my arm in a plastic bag!
Small joys, my friends. Small joys.
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