It has been 10 days since the surgery to correct the broken bones in my arm. Yesterday, I saw my doctor for a follow up appointment. I hadn’t seen my arm since the day of the surgery. As the nurse cut away my bandages, I was apprehensive with what I saw. My arm is smaller and difficult to move, the inside has medical tape covering my incision, which is about 3 to 4 inches long, and the stitches.
Then my doctor entered the room, took a look and said it looked great. (It didn’t look great to me, I have fond memories of my left arm looking like my right one.) He explained to me that everything was coming along fantastically and that I was ready to use it and challenge myself – and I am, I’m typing this post with both hands, albeit with a lot of typos for editing. I have exercises to do and soon will have physical therapy to get me back to my old self. The simple movements are challenging but I’m looking forward to seeing progress. I have to be patient but I’m happy to have a great doctor and lots of people who love and care about me.
I have a few scars, proof that I’ve had pain or misfortune from time to time and survived. Soon, I’ll be adding another one to the list, a long thin line on my left forearm. Scars aren’t bad things, they show you have experience and add personality. It’s proof that you are living your life.