How To Be A Dinner Table Cut-Up with Fused Wrists

Having had both wrists fused last year I've gradually learned to accommodate the loss of wrist movement and learned new ways of doing things. The first time I tried to butter my breakfast toast, I was stymied. I had not realized that using a table knife required bending one's wrist.

After several frustrating dining experiences I began to experiment and discovered a new way of holding the knife.

Here's how I used to hold a knife. The only ways to use a knife in this position I would have to either stand up or raise my elbow to the level of my shoulder.

Here's the way I hold it now, the way I hold a pencil or pen. It works just fine and has become second nature to me.

Now I can use a knife at the table without making a spectacle of myself.

Life with Fused Wrists

Often when I tell someone that my wrists are fused, he asks, "Can you bend them?"

No. When wrists have been fused they will never bend again. The surgeon warned, "You can't wipe your bottom with fused wrists." That's the main reason I put off having them fused. Then a younger woman who had both wrists fused called me. She assured me that personal hygiene is not a problem. I immediately scheduled my second wrist fusion.

For years I had lived with terrible pain whenever I used my hands, which we do all day long.  My activities were severely restricted. I couldn't even make a salad for dinner. I couldn't sew. At the end I needed help bathing. Gardening was impossible, which I realized one day last summer when trying to harvest garlic. I remember the pain. I remember saying aloud, "I can't do this any more," and walking away.

Now I can do almost anything I want without pain. I'm stymied by only two things.  I can't pick up something from the floor of my car while seated in the car and I can't wash my chest. The first has an easy solution: get out of the car and pick up the item from a standing position. The second was more difficult. I searched the Internet for a bath brush with a curved handle, but found nothing. Then, in a hospital gift shop I found this handy scrubber with a curved handle. Red isn't my favorite color, but that was the only choice.

To anyone who is debating whether to have wrist fusion, I say, "Do it!" Life without pain is a precious gift. I can cook, I can sew, I can drive my car easily. I gave my collection of wrist braces to the thrift store. You can, too.

Bad News and a Blessing

For a while my second wrist surgery was going well. I cooked. I washed dishes. Then a new kind of pain arose in my right hand, intense and breath-taking. I was again reduced to being a one-handed person.

When I went to the surgeon for a final check of the surgical outcome, I said a new problem had arisen, probably unrelated to the surgery. The surgeon ordered X-rays of my right wrist. He studied them carefully, then announced that my right wrist is in worse shape than my left had been before he fused it. I had two options, he said. One is an artificial wrist joint that is not very durable. It might last five years. After it breaks I would have to undergo another, more difficult surgery to fuse the wrist. The other option is immediate wrist fusion, which allows for no wrist movement whatsoever.

I left his office with tears welling in my eyes. Is there no end to this deterioration? How will I manage to live, to survive another surgery?

I drove from the surgeon's office to the downtown. There was banking to do and I needed to pick up the sunglasses I had left the day before at the bakery. I was walking up Vermont Street, fighting tears, when I looked up and was amazed to see Dennis walking toward me.

When we met, he asked, "What's the matter, Darlin'?" He looked in my eyes and without another word enveloped me in his arms and held me close while I rested my head against his shoulder.

Never in my life have I needed more to be held by someone who loves me, and there he was, a blessing.

Of course I will do what must be done. There is no way out but through. His love will give me the strength to endure, just as it gave me the solace I desperately needed, standing by the library on Vermont Street last Tuesday.

From "The Mummy' to "Dr. Strangelove"

I had three-hour hand and wrist surgery on August 25 and spent the next two days in a narcotics-induced haze, floating in a briny sea, breathing through gills again. Then, having called it quits with oxycodone, I swam to the shore of reality and gazed in awe at my mighty left paw.

The half cast and dressings seemed to weigh five pounds. It rested on two pillows beside me, keeping my hand above my heart.

Six days later a nurse removed the bandages and cast, revealing a bruised and swollen hand adorned with Frankenstein black stitches. Then came a splint molded to hold my fingers straight. Under the splint I wear a Dr. Strangelove glove to help reduce swelling.

With the splint came instructions for faithful exercising of fingers four times a day. Last week the stitches were removed and new, more difficult exercises became my routine. My fingers become a bit more dexterous every day. I'll have to wear the splint, which essentially makes me a one-handed person, for three and a half more weeks.

Looking back at older posts I marvel that just a year ago I was making jelly and working in the garden, sewing and preparing meals. Maybe someday I'll be able to do such things again but for now I'm learning to depend on others to help me through each day.

Next time I'll write about the wonderful people who have helped me get this far, people to whom I am deeply indebted.