Addendum
I’ve decided that minimally displaced fractures of the radial head (elbow) are like the practical joke of broken bones. No splint, no cast . . . basically I have to spend the next month trying to claw back my range of motion regardless of pain or discomfort, as failing to do so would result in a locked elbow and surgery.
What does that mean? It means busting my ass to do the everyday things that I used to do without thinking. Typing, brushing my hair, feeding myself . . . these have all become part of the grueling rehabilitation process. Ordinarily I would prefer to be a lazy git and let other people take care of me, but my fear of losing full use of my elbow and surgery has prompted me to show an unusual amount of initiative. In fact, so much initiative and determination that I think some people are having trouble believing that it’s actually broken. Yes, it’s still broken. Yes, it still hurts like a MOTHERFUCKER sometimes. Yes, I still need painkillers, and no, I really can’t carry as much as you think I can. I have to keep reminding Seuss that despite my progress, I am still in no position to jump back into using my arm to cook, clean and what-have-you. I’m contemplating painting it a different colour just so he remembers that it’s STILL BROKEN. Perhaps I’ll vary the shade by pain level.
This experience has also given me a renewed appreciation for the work that my mother has done as an occupational therapist. I’ve seen her work with patients in the past, and I’ve seen firsthand the incredible progress they make under her care, but I never understood the patient’s side of the experience. I never realized how much it hurts, how much it sucks, how fucking irritable you get from the combination of pain and slow progress. It never occurred to me how much of a difference a caregiver can make in the rehabilitation process. Sometimes, particularly if the condition is slow to show improvement, the caregiver’s interest and enthusiasm can be the only thing that carries the patient through a difficult time in their therapy. I thought I understood rehabilitation on a basic level, but I’m only just starting to get a glimpse of what is actually involved.
I’m also full of awe and admiration for my mother’s clinical knowledge and bedside manner with patients. It’s a shame she doesn’t have a clinical practice anymore, because she has a real gift for it. There is a magic to how she approaches the rehabilitation process, and a boundless enthusiasm that is just the antidote for the frustrated and demoralized patient. I wish more people could experience that from the healthcare providers they encounter.
