I’ve been crazy busy the last couple weeks, but I’m sick,
and taking a day off of classes, which finally gives me a chance to sit down
and write again. My surgery was about
three weeks ago now, and, so far, the results seem pretty positive. I’m working on getting range of motion back,
and the scar is starting to look less like a Frankenfinger. I’m thrilled that the yellow and purple and
orange all gone and normal finger-color returned. In some places it’s not even that noticeable
that there’s a scar there.
The first week was pretty rough, all-in-all. I had a fever for the first four days after surgery,
and between that and some pretty trippy painkillers, I did a lot of sleeping
and not a lot of anything else. My
wonderful parents took such good care of me for the first few days before I had
to go back to classes, especially since this is the busiest time of year for
them, as accountants. That week also
included a tough day emotionally—the date that I’d originally picked for my
recital, way back before I knew just how bad my hand was. It felt like a milestone of how much my life
had changed from my original plan. I was
still mostly writing with my right (non-dominant) hand, I hadn’t washed my hand
since before surgery (thanks to the bandages), and I was showering with a
plastic bag duct taped around my wrist to keep my bandages from getting wet. The increase in pain post-surgery also made
it feel like I hadn’t really accomplished anything at all in the past four
months.
As my hand started to feel better, I also perked back
up. Eyes back on the prize and all
that. Getting the bandages off and
stitches out last week was exciting (and crazy icky, I’m pretty squeamish about
my own injuries), but also unexpectedly scary.
With my finger still quite sore, but suddenly without all the padding
the bandage had provided, I was pretty sure I would do something awful and stupid
to it on accident. Miraculously, I’ve
managed not to do so, and I’m even getting a lot better at getting around with
one hand. Yesterday was snowy and cold (April
snowstorm… Thanks a bunch, Colorado),
and I made soup and muffins, and even cleaned the kitchen, all without really
using my left hand for any of the hard stuff.
It felt like a pretty big accomplishment for me, after all the time I’ve
spent fumbling to do even the most basic of things.
As I mentioned last time, I’m starting to look for a 7/8ths
size cello, which is a bit of a challenge since I’m not supposed to be playing. It would probably be easiest to start the
search in August when I’ve got permission to play again, but it’s an odd cello
size, and not easy to find. The weekend
before surgery a wonderful friend who’s a cello graduate student, agreed to
help me try one out! The plan was for
her to play my cello and the potential new one, so that I could get an idea of
what it sounds like, from someone whose opinion I trust.
Of course, sticking to plan isn’t one of my strong
points. (That can’t really be a surprise
for anyone.) When we got there, I couldn’t
help but play around on it for a while.
I told myself that I didn’t have much to lose, since I’d be having
surgery to fix the problem in a few days anyway. It was a self-destructive attitude, I know,
but I think it was something I really needed to do. Playing for the first time in almost four months
was a lot of fun, even though I didn’t have anything prepared. I’d been really worried about surgery, and playing
again reminded me what was at stake and just how excited I was to get better
and get back to it.
I was surprised that my fingertips started hurting before my
wrist or pinky—callouses disappear so fast, guys. I’m not sure that cello was the one, but I
have five more months to keep looking.
The next fiveish weeks before I graduate from college
(eeeek) are going to be pretty busy, but after graduation I’m planning on
starting my research into how best to change my playing, and hopefully over the
summer I’ll get a few posts in about that.
