Getting a grip

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.