Saturday, October 12, 2013

When The Repair Man Needs Repair.

It's 10:54 p.m., and I'm sitting burdened by a series of puzzling thoughts. For one; what do you do when it is the repair man who is in fact the very thing in need of repair?

Two days ago I managed to see an orthopedic specialist regarding my right hand/wrist. Long story short there was an ever so pleasant injection into said wrist to try to determine if any relief could be had and the potential necessity of surgery. Now, here I sat two days later with marked improvement from the constant numbness and tingling but still struggling with some pain, not to mention reduced function.

The problem is that I find myself looking up at a spinning coin, on one face is the expected fear and worry ever present, and on the other a shinning glimmer of hope. I can even hear the familiar Twing of it on the air as it has been cast aloft. But my problem is the uncomfortable uncertainty.

I stepped outside today to take a look at our van, its our only vehicle and recently it decided that its power steering pump just didn't want to work. Now, granted this could be a irritating nuisance in itself, but it also serves as a key component of the braking system. No steering, no braking. I've managed to get it to straighten back out before, but back then I had two working hands. I say that because today I had to shamefully admit that something I have done a million times, a woefully basic task was beyond me. I couldn't remove a fuse with my right hand to check it. The hand just wouldn't work right, it shook violently, refused to grip or hold - I just couldn't do it. I found myself awash in a mixture of fury and torrential tormenting terror. My left arm couldn't manage the needed angle to reach well enough either.

Which brought me back to thinking. I look to my right hand and I see a technician with tools to hand and the knowledge to make use of them, but lacking the ability to combine those two aspects. A scribe unable to scribble. And then I look upon my left and I see possibility.

So whether surgery restores me or simply allows me a lesser degree of function than before I have to keep my eye on the coin of chance. Even if surgery isn't an option and something else is, I have to keep faith that I'll adapt - I'll survive. I've weathered many a storm from birth, and something tells me there will be many more to come. It isn't the events that determine the course of our lives, it is where we decide to tread from those events that define us.