Disability!                                                                         October 14 2014

   I am learning what it is like to live with a disability.  My broken hand is no big deal; certainly not compared to a broken leg or hip or back.  It is, however, teaching me  lessons.  I am learning how to accept the fact that my left hand is now my working hand.

   I sat for an hour today filling in the small circles on my mail-in ballot.  Now that is a simple no brainer task.  So long as I had decided whom to vote for, filling in the ovals with my left hand was no biggie. Three fingers on my casted hand are free, they can type but writing, using a pen is a challenge because the bulky cast gets in the way or hits any key it chooses..  So, I tried my left hand.  It was like learning to write all over again.

   I understand that five weeks of pampering my right hand is simply a huge inconvenience.  Small matter though it is, it requires learning, patience and hope.  For active folks who are trying to maintain independence in the face of some functional loss, the immediate challenge is substituting an action for the disabled one.  First issue that popped into my head was “What about my signature?”  I asked the bank and received an interesting response: ”Don’t worry about it, however you sign, we will know, we will accept it.”  I fiddled with the idea of just signing my initials.  My son always signed checks that way.  Finally I found that my right hand had deeply grooved habits, it automatically signed a reasonable facsimile of my signature as long as I worked very slo…..wly.

     What about eating?  Again, habit overcame disability.  I automatically pick up my fork with that right hand.  It is clumsy and I have found out a knife is useless.  Those three working fingers are doing quite a job, again slowly.  Finally following nutritionists’ advice, slow down eating. But my left hand is also learning to take over and work. That is where patience is important.  Picking up a fork, buttoning a shirt or un-buttoning it requires a great deal of patience.  Until now I have had a short supply, but I am learning to take it easy, to wait for me and my left hand to learn and catch up.  Washing my face is something I never did with my left hand, but we are learning.

     Patience is hard, I got into trouble by not having enough that moment in the middle of the night when I stubbed my toe. Hope is easy,  I know my hand will heal, I hope the healing is perfect.  If it is not, I know perfection in every aspect of life is hard to achieve.  The doctor has already told me my pinky finger might be a bit funny.  I did not ask him to define funny.  I can wait to be surprised.

 

One Woman’s Opinion……………………..October 7, 2014

  

     I am uncomfortable with the expressions “passed away” or “passed on” or simply “passed”.  It is school days lingo; I have not taken any exams recently.  I wish people would confront the truth about death it is a piece of life.  Just as every one of us emerged from mother’s womb, so each of us will sigh that last sigh, and die. One unnamed writer claims that using the phrase “has died”, is rude.  That boggles my mind. When someone dies, that is a truth, not to be celebrated but to be honored, accepted and respected.   Of course it is rude if a death is reported excitedly with disrespectable relish.

     “Passed on” or any of its derivative phrases is harsh on my ears, they evade the reality of death.  Maybe for some it softens the blow.  The variety of issues includes specific religious beliefs.  Did my beloved husband pass on to a better life? Personally, I do not believe that, he loved life just as it was.  I do not believe in an after-life though I respect those who do.  I believe in the immortality of one’s spirit as long as someone remembers.  Did my darling son pass away?  Not at all, he did not go very far, he died and landed in my heart. As long as I live his memory will be lively, especially that his Dad is there to keep him company.

     Other issues with the use of “passing away” include: pass is an active verb.  When someone dies there is no action that takes place.  “Active” stops, the one who dies becomes less and less active until finally, he/she loses life and dies.

     I do not usually engage in the use of euphemisms.  It is in my nature to look truth directly in the eye.  Perhaps for that reason, when someone dies, I need to say it like it is. I think we agree, as noted, that death is part of living.  Everyone, as far as I know, does eventually die.  Just as we live our lives differently from one another, so we die each in our own manner.  You might say that your friend passed; I might say that my friend died.  I guess in the long run, we each understand the words; it is the loss, the sadness and compassion that matters.  “Pass” will never express for me, how I feel about my beloveds’ deaths.  I lost them, they did not pass by, their physical beings left me and became ashes, as they wished.  Their spirits will continue to live in my heart as long as it beats as I wish.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

    

More than an injury …                                                                October 2, 2014

     As you know, my right hand is in a cast, I broke it!  There are three useful fingers poking out of the eight-inch long cast that has almost immobilized my pinky and its ring finger partner.  What is my problem? I still have a good left hand and a working upper right arm and shoulder.  Women friends try closing or opening your bra with one hand.  And my men friends try signing your credit cards lefty or right-handed with a jutting cast trying to “help”. I have not decided yet whether I want to tame the cast and make it obey or just teach my left hand how to sign my name.

     It has been rumored that I do not take my own advice.  When I was writing a column for the North County Times, I wrote often about falling.  Twice I have fallen and broken bones.  Accidents happen to us all, but long time tested advice about scatter rugs, caution, impediments, lighting etc is necessary to remind us that caution is always necessary as we age, as we slow down.  I did not place the rug I tripped on prior to my first fall; I did not tell my friend not to let me out on a slant, then I turned down her offer of help, the second time.  I broke my own hand this third time because I was expressing anger. I did not fall!

     I am also not infallible.  Accidents happen and anger can explode.  If one has a sound piece of advice that is worth sharing, it needs to be shared.  For those who criticize me for not taking my own words of advice and precaution, I have a few things to say. First, a fall is an unplanned event.  Words of caution simply add to the possibility that we will not have an accident or be seriously hurt if we do.  Second, taking precautions helps us to build wall against serious accidents.  Third, by being aware and careful, we protect our friends, family and visitors in our home.  Fourth, I always felt that perhaps my words would at least help one person avoid a bad spill.  Most of the stories I told and the words of warning I sounded were meant to be helpful to others.

     If it worries some that I did not heed my own advice, I am grateful for your concern and sorry for your disappointment.  It is like many old stories about the shoemaker’s barefoot kids or the psychiatrist’s acting out teenagers.  Accidents happen, bones break, hopefully, we survive to talk about it. But even at this ripe age, I do have to control my temper, should not have blasted that stool in anger; happy it was not a person.