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hands down…language wins

March 24, 2009

Despite my husband commending my mastery of “Gen-Z texting,” I really need my language back. What separates me from the lower primates are opposable thumbs and a command of the English language. My opposable thumbs and command of language work together, and their cooperation has been disrupted.

I should not type at all, for several weeks, but I have not yet been leveled into obedience of that logic. For now, I just need to type slowly, without using my thumbs. It helps to break repetitive patterns and use different fingers on the keys. But the breaks in patterning break my brain-to-hand process, too.

After typing a few lines, I must stop and do something else. Each tap sends painful and tingly sensations through all my fingers, up to my elbows. My plight is common; I just don’t want to resort to the common way of dealing with it: rest. I do little enough; please don’t ask me to rest from the little I do. But my hands insist. They stop in mid-action, like Balaam’s donkey.

I am compelled to keep up my blog because it’s part of “what I do.” Email will remain Gen-Z and limited. Picking up objects remains dicey as to their retention in my hands. Mending something yesterday was surprisingly difficult. Life goes on, which should always amaze us.

One discovery: I’d never thought to check before, but after talking with my pharmacist yesterday, I checked my blood glucose an hour after taking ibuprofen, and it seems the innocuous NSAID sends it into the oh nooooo zone; specifically, the 170s–and that after an hour’s walk that should have lowered it. The simple explanation is, ibu causes the liver to metabolize things differently. But I probably shouldn’t have eaten the ice cream before the soup, either. Anyway, no more ice cream for now. The Lord gave me ice cream, and the Lord took away my ice cream. Blessed be the Lord.

Hands down now. Pithy party over.

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One Comment
  1. March 25, 2009 7:17 am

    I am truly sorry to read about of hand/wrist/arm pain. I was thinking of the way you are that I know you through several years now to be — that you don’t succumb to these things, even when they don’t succumb to you. Perhaps a mix between you and I might be the perfect sick person (what an oxymoron!) as I lack ‘grit’ in the face of physical challenge and you have been given such a beautifully generous dallop. God bless you for it.

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