My own stupid fault
Feb. 16th, 2004 11:07 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
radegundSo I went and did it again, because I'm stupid and have no self-discipline.
My arm and hand were getting better all last week - pain greatly diminished, mobility increased - and by Friday I was thoroughly sick of the whole shebang so ... I ... started using the hand again. I typed a bit; I chopped a bit; I wiped some surfaces.
On Saturday I got bolder. I made dinner and a midnight soup (for my friend who was coming to lunch on Sunday). I typed some more. I drove. I may have folded clothes.
Result: misery. Arm quite sore by Sunday evening, and flares of clear blue pain woke me up in the small hours of Monday. They were mixed in with dreams, of course, so that I was measuring the length of various vectors between pain points and tallying them all on a big spreadsheet. "421, 423, 504," I was saying, as I drifted in and out of consciousness and tried to find a more comfortable position for my arm.
And now, although I'm not quite back to square one (it's not as bad as it was early last week), I have the prospect of several more days of frustration and slowness ahead of me. It's such a handicap to have to think about typing, when normally the words go straight from brain to screen with minimal conscious input at the fingers stage. Oh well, at least I'm left-handed.
Bastard tendons. Who needs them?
My arm and hand were getting better all last week - pain greatly diminished, mobility increased - and by Friday I was thoroughly sick of the whole shebang so ... I ... started using the hand again. I typed a bit; I chopped a bit; I wiped some surfaces.
On Saturday I got bolder. I made dinner and a midnight soup (for my friend who was coming to lunch on Sunday). I typed some more. I drove. I may have folded clothes.
Result: misery. Arm quite sore by Sunday evening, and flares of clear blue pain woke me up in the small hours of Monday. They were mixed in with dreams, of course, so that I was measuring the length of various vectors between pain points and tallying them all on a big spreadsheet. "421, 423, 504," I was saying, as I drifted in and out of consciousness and tried to find a more comfortable position for my arm.
And now, although I'm not quite back to square one (it's not as bad as it was early last week), I have the prospect of several more days of frustration and slowness ahead of me. It's such a handicap to have to think about typing, when normally the words go straight from brain to screen with minimal conscious input at the fingers stage. Oh well, at least I'm left-handed.
Bastard tendons. Who needs them?
