An Open Letter to My Left Wrist
It’s midnight, and I can’t sleep because I’ve convinced myself I can feel the plate(s)* inside you, even though I know that’s not possible. (Also the dog threw up an hour ago and wouldn’t “leave it,” so I had to get out of bed and clean that up, which took me out of my sleepy state. But mostly the plate thing.)
I am sorry for all the times I took you for granted. I walk around now with my hair half wet and unstyled, jeans unbuttoned, and in the same slip-ons I’ve worn the last two weeks because I can’t fasten shoes, and I think of all the things you used to allow me to do.
If I had known the last large task you and I would do together would be picking poop out of Kane’s butt hair on a Monday night, I would have stopped and cherished the moment (well, honestly, probably not).
I miss you and the days you weren’t all iodine-stained and stinky and itchy. I miss typing with you and not having to use this stupid swipe keyboard that INSISTS I meant “tofu” when OF COURSE I meant “you.” I miss putting you under the pillow when I sleep instead of the weird probably-gonna-pull-my-shoulder-out-of-the-socket position we have to sleep in now. I miss cutting food so effortlessly with you and never being drawn to throw my fork in frustration. (Happy birthday, Sean. Sorry your party is so lame.) I miss being invisible at Publix and not being asked by older women why we are so brittle that a simple fall broke us.
“That’s only supposed to happen to old people like me! What’s wrong with you?”
I miss meeting Kane’s enthusiastic, bouncy greetings with an equally joyful embrace rather than fear. I miss baristas greeting us with a jovial “good morning!” rather than the pity head tilt we get now. I miss two-handed activities like hand cream application and hand-washing and showering. I miss folding clothes with you.
I miss all of these things, but most of all, I miss having conversations that don’t revolve around you.
Forever Temporarily missing you,
Nat
*I have no clue what actually went down last Wednesday. They showed me my X-rays while I was still partially sedated, and it looked like I had a bionic arm. I asked if I could take them home to look at once the drugs wore off, and they said no, so I cried and whined, “Whyyyyyy?” like any normal, well-adjusted adult would.