Edna

My right hand has sort of become the center of my life. Just enter our kitchen and you'll see my whole home-therapy station, complete with a pot of beans, scar cream, hand lotion, heat pad, cold compress, and exercise manual.

In the end it's just a classic case of "you never realize how much you use it until you don't have it". Thankfully I have little pain but I'm still always conscious about it and my eyes can't stop looking at the T shaped scar that's dotted with little stitch marks. It's like having a loose tooth in your mouth that your tongue can't stop playing with.

Every day I do therapy five times a day and at least ten people ask me how my hand is. That probably already adds up to at least a few hours of totally wrist-focused behavior per day. Then on top of that, twice a week I go see my therapist and we talk about my wrist for an hour straight. Tendons this, nerves that, etc, etc, etc. It completely fascinates me. Rawley says I was the happiest post-surgery patient he's ever seen and therefore thinks I should be a doctor. (We shall see about that).

But in all honesty, my injury has brought me almost as much good as bad. I look forward to going to therapy so I can see the progress I've made, the new exercises I'll have to do, the other patients that will be there and most of all to see my therapist. I'm starting to build a good relationship with her and we love talking with each other. Among other things we talk mostly about my work, the wonders of the Capay Valley, and all the discoveries her eight-month old is making. We talk about the pesticides that fill the central valley and how she's worried for her baby having to ingest them, but how at the same time all the organic food is so expensive. I can't wait to bring her a fresh basket of organic strawberries next week.