Took quite a tumble down the stairs last Thursday night and fractured/dislocated my right elbow. I screamed like a banshee enraged - all the neighbors came running. Quite the scene.
Anyhoo, I'm typing this with my left index finger and it's verrrry slow going. I will never take the many options of two-handedness for granted ever again. Putting a bra on with one hand is a frustrating way to start the day but with this pair o'mine, it must be conquered.
The idea that I will not be on a horse for awhile upsets me the most. This, and the possibility that I may have to pass up my first pro photo gig in NYC in mid-November. Already, I'm starting to realize how unfair the world is for lefties.
Still, I am pulling much strength ferom the memory of my late Grandma Myrtle, who'd had a brain tumor removed, leaving her with a paralyzed right side. Though she was right-handed, she didn't spend much time fretting her loss. She still insisted on looking her best - lipstick, powder, and, of course, matching broach, necklace and earrings. I remember watching her wash her 'delicates' with her one good hand, wrapping them around the faucet and squeezing.
After a few decades of living like this, her left hand became frightfully strong. In fact, she soon became famous for her one-armed hugs, her well-meaning but slightly dangerous Loving Death Grip. Sure, she might just squeeze the life outta you but gol darnit, it's because she loves ya so dang much . . . now C'MERE!