Badass to the Elbone

I am now a week and a half after my surgery and I’m trying to assess all the thoughts that went through my mind and my shifting psychological state throughout that time.

A couple of days after the surgery, I was released from the hospital. Although I was happy to go home, every time something happened to my hand, I kept thinking “I should have stayed in the hospital so they could monitor me,” and would get all paranoid.

My fingers got swollen while I was in Be’er Sheva with my parents. I freaked out and went to the doctor, who said not to worry. But later on that night, my fingers turned blue and I freaked out even more. I cried myself to sleep thinking the injury will never heal and the pain will never go away. I went to the doctor again the next day who told me not to worry again and that all this is normal following an orthopedic surgery.

I was also thinking about how people sometimes complain when they get a paper cut or when they break their nail. I used to complain about period cramps. But seriously, I would rather cover my hands in paper cuts, break all my fingernails and my toenails and get 10 days worth of period cramps than breaking my elbow again.

Then I started thinking about how much worse it could be. I could have broken my leg or my face or my ribs or my back or my neck. I rather break my elbow. Also, I would rather break both my elbows 12 times over than get some really bad illness like cancer, Goddess forbid. So I thank Her for such favors.

The worst part about this injury is that I can’t do anything by myself, and I can’t do anything without experiencing an obscene amount of pain. My mom keeps helping me with everything – cooking, cleaning, ironing, laundry, dishes, changing my sheets, changing my clothes, showering, even taking out my dog. She pulled a Monk on my apartment and scrubbed it so clean it looks like it was completely renovated. I’m really grateful for that, but at the same time I think that if my right arm was ok, I would have never let my mom do such strenuous work without some help from me.

It’s really the little things that people take for granted that piss me off. Signing my name, zipping up my winter coat, blowing my nose, making tea, mailing a letter, riding the bus… things I can’t do at all or can try doing with extreme difficulty. Things that I used to do so easily, that suddenly became such a fucking frustrating challenge. I still have trouble giving a thumbs-up with my right hand.

This feeling of uselessness and helplessness is even worse now that I spent an entire month doing all these wonderful DIY activities, making amazing art, making something of myself. And now, all I can do is sit around and watch TV, because even sitting in front of the computer can get strenuous after a while.

I keep fighting though. I can’t wait until I heal and have my metal plate removed and complete my physio and I can finally get down to living my life. I am going to make so much art, my apartment will not be able to contain it!

Peace, love and DIY shall prevail


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