for excess of a better title

I'm back! Today my cast was removed after four long weeks and I can once again type without restrictions. Over the last week or so potential titles for this post started coming to my head, one better than the previous, and certainly too many to fit into one line comfortably. In the end, none would have been totally fitting because reality is different from what I imagined it.

Free at last was my first idea because it described exactly what I thought I would feel when I wouldn't have to lug around anymore the two pounds of plaster that were weighing my left arm down. I didn't reckon there would also be a good pound of muscle missing after clandestinely evaporating from underneath the thick white shell. Despite my mind being buoyed by excitement while I was strolling through town after leaving the hospital, it wasn't my head that hovered highest but my left arm. Relieved of the double burden it constantly wandered skyward looking down upon me.

What it saw was not delightful. I felt sensations of unease coming from my thumb strong enough to wrap my stomach into a tight knot. The cut in my finger was still deep and every time I moved my thumb it felt like ripping back open. My hand was not fully functional, despite what I had hoped for. I felt no pain, but the anticipation of it in case of a jerky move made me sleepwalk uneasily all the way to lab.

Another idea for a title I had was cast away, but before the cast was gone I had to suffer through minor hell. The first thing the nurse did was plug a heavy-duty power drill into the outlet. On its tip was a two-inch disk with a hundred teeth gleaming menacingly in the unforgiving light of the hospital. Flicking a switch, the thing roared to life and my eyes grew wide. The nurse assured me it wouldn't hurt. I was ready for a little scratch on my forearm, but worried about the powderized plaster getting into the fresh wound. Small beads of sweat formed on my forehead, trickling pearls of fear. It would have been hugely reassuring if the nurse had told me the disk didn't rotate but only vibrate before she started cutting a quarter inch from my skin.

Decastrated is what I expected to feel after regaining control of my left arm. Unfortunately there is nothing macho about the limp appendix that's now hanging from my shoulder. Power has whithered away after a month of disuse and the contrast with the other arm, well fed after holidays rich in calories and poor in activity, is striking. Skin and hair have died in unison and form a thick layer of dead cells that will take days of scratching to get rid of. My hand looks like I'm 120 years old. I'd probably get senior discount if I handed my money over with it.

Despite all I'm mighty happy that most is over. A dozen sessions of physiotherapy remain, after which I hope I'll be as good as new. Looking at the fourteen little holes surrounding the still gaping cut, I know I was lucky. I've learned it the hard way but share it with you: Have your mom prepare the grapefruit for you.