"I can imagine living without my thumbs but not my imagination"
An ode to worn out thumbs and a prayer request
Imagine if you could see the wear and tear on your hands as clearly as your worn out, well-loved work gloves? How faithfully they’ve been holding your heartaches and hopes, your pruning shears, hammer and shovels, and all that manure. Love is in the word glove for a reason, perhaps.
My pink leather gloves were nearly indestructible. They protected my hands from a lot!
I first got them in 2001 when we moved over mountains to grow fruit in the Colorado desert. My gloves finally gave out in 2019 after wrestling blackberry brambles and broken tree branches on my island acre southwest of Seattle. When the gloves were too crunchy to bend and water flowed into the fingertips, I gave up.
There’s a time to hold on to our favorite things, like the warm woolen mittens Julie Andrews sang about. I tried to replace them but couldn’t find pink leather gloves online or in town. Instead, I hung on to these photos, sure I’d need them someday. But this blog topic is not what I had imagined back then.
Like the gloves, my thumbs are worn out. Both thumbs began their decline a decade ago. We made do until the only thing left to do is do surgery. One at a time. Right thumb goes first, on this Friday, April 26th.
Prayers please! Or love and light! I invite you to imagine good luck and fast healing. My kind and expert hand surgeon is using a new-ish material called FiberWire to create a sling for my thumb bones, now that the cartilage is gone. And bye-bye trapezium bone, by the way!
I’ve begun to imagine (and practice) living without my right thumb for six to twelve weeks. One at a time for good reason!
I’m with Ursula: I can imagine living without my thumbs for six weeks, but I can’t imagine living without my imagination. Although I’m sure there were times that I did.
I’m imagining retiring my old bones as if they were worn out gloves, then repairing my hands so they’re good as new for the next book my life is ready to write.
Thank you, my thumbs! Thank you, trapezium, cartilage and tendons! Thank you, hand brace and arnica, OT, chiropractor and acupuncturist! Thank you gloves!!
I’ll be away from my keyboard for a few weeks of recovery. Thanks a ton to my sister and dad for picking up slack while I can’t use my right hand at all for awhile. I’ll see what my left hand is willing and able to do. I have many options, including slowing down.
On the other hand, two new books
Self-care is the name of the game for this summer. It has not escaped me, the irony, that the next book I’m publishing, June 25th, is Caring for Self & Others!
If you have any sayings or songs related to hands and thumbs, send them my way! I’ll need some good laughs as good medicine.
Speaking of laughter, check out this funny new children’s book by my cousin Tiffany Haifley, Mrs. Popish’s Pickles, based on a true family story involving laundry!
P.S. Support your favorite local indie bookstore on Saturday, April 27th. That’s Independent Bookstore Day! You can find books from Creative Courage Press and other books I recommend on our shelves at Bookshop.org.
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Dear Shelly, as I was reading your blog, I was reminded of your book the courage way, and your talk on the different types of courage. You embody courage! Here’s to prayers for complete healing and speedy recovery, dear friend! 💕
"If you have any sayings or songs related to hands and thumbs, send them my way! " ... O.K, here goes. I recite poetry occasionally and one in my repertoire is Emily Dickinson's (1830-1886) "I took my Power in my Hand". If asked "isn't this rather negative?" I reply "look at the first stanza, the courage needed, and acted upon, to face a difficult situation. How can stepping out in boldness be a failure?" The outcome (second stanza) ... well, as always if truth be known, is in the lap of the gods. That said, I hope it all goes well with the best outcome for you.
Here's Dickinson's poem:
I took my power in my hand.
And went against the world;
T'was not so much as David had,
But I was twice as bold.
I aimed my pebble, but myself
Was all the one that fell.
Was it Goliath was too large,
Or only I too small?
(PS: I'm lucky if my gloves last one year ... and I have a lot of left-hand gloves which are o.k but with their right-hand counterparts well worn out. I'll be looking for a left-handed gardener at the next food-swop)