Life in a cast sucks. I’m not very good at being uncomfortable; this is the reason I don’t go camping often, why I don’t hang around people who bother me, and why I will not be having any more babies. I still feel bad for my husband, who spent a collective eighteen months with pregnant me; there was non-stop whining, high drama, and quite a few shrill notes for him. Of course, life in a cast is not nearly as difficult as life lived for two, but it is definitely not anything I’m going to miss. Everything seems to take three times longer than it used to, I have to shower with a plastic bag on my arm, I can’t type worth crap, and all my best dance moves are significantly dorkier with this bright purple hook. Bathroom trips are lots of fun; if I’m not back in ten minutes, don’t send a search party, I’m probably just fighting with the button on my jeans. I have to explain my injury and the strange angle of my cast at least fifty times a day and assure people that yes, it was put on right, that I didn’t put it on myself. You should see me try to open cans, jars, and even Ziplock bags. (Little confession here: I really can’t open Ziplock bags. At all. If my husband isn’t around to help, I just tear the crap out of them. With my teeth.) Diaper changes are the best, especially since my son always tries to get away, and nearly always succeeds in his escape. By the time I adjust to all of this, it will be time to take the cast off.
Though I am a shameless whiner, I’m also oddly optimistic and positive about this whole thing. There are a few good things about the cast. For one, it is a nice shade of purple. I was going to go with black, but I decided to let my daughter choose the color instead. She loves it so much that she wants it when I’m done with it. I’m saving money, since I can’t really use my gym membership right now (though I do miss those stress-relieving workouts). I probably could hit the treadmill, but I’m afraid of the sweating and itching, and the possible unpleasant, possibly permanent, smell that could result from that. I’m forced to slow down, since I am physically incapable of doing anything quickly, so I’m getting a lot less done in a lot more time. This is good, I think. Everyone’s always telling me I need to slow down, so there must be something to be gained from this. Maybe I’m more connected with myself and the present moment or something like that. Having an obvious injury does garner some sympathy from strangers, so work has been much easier to deal with, aside from the one grown man who stuck his lip out at me and said in a baby voice, “Looks like somebody has an owie!” Give me credit: I didn’t beat the man with my cast. The best thing about this cast? Well, even I have to admit that it is pretty funny. My friends make cruel jokes and mock me, but I can’t help but laugh because I know they are right: this is funny, on so many levels. I’m sure I’ll be laughing about it for years.
I really can’t complain too much; this thing comes off in just a little over two weeks, one week earlier than it was supposed to come off. I am a little worried about a few things, though. I’m not excited to see my wrist after six weeks of injury and atrophy. I saw it after just one week in a cast, and it looked smushy and white and just weird. I wonder if there will be any permanent affects, like clicking sounds in my wrist, or an ability to predict the weather with my wrist pain. What if I cant type as well or hoochie dance quite the same ever again? Well, whatever the pitfalls may be, I’ll be happy to get rid of this cast. I plan on celebrating. With cake. Lots of cake. And I’m going to eat it with my left hand.
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