My Red Right Hand

NOVEMBER 19, 2009

“You’d be surprised what you can do with your left hand.”

No, I wouldn’t. Having undergone surgery on my right hand last year, I have a pretty good idea of what I can do with my left one, including how well and how quickly I can, or can’t, do it.

The work I do — including the job I had to forfeit this week (and beyond) — always involves a deadline. When that deadline is too tight for a client to handle using only their staff designers, they call in freelance reinforcements. Unfortunately for me, the wounded don’t get called to the front lines. Things need to be done right, handled quickly, and accurately. While pecking around with my odd hand might be fine for writing a blog post, it’s not so great when working on a job with a million-dollar budget.

So.

I’m fucked.

At least I have insurance, or I’d be double fucked.

In the meantime, I received some potentially good news from my orthopedist: I may not need surgery after all. The orthopedist shared my X-rays with her colleagues, and the consensus was that my arm might be just fine without any hardware. As soon as my insurance company’s Death Panel approves a CAT scan, we can find out for sure. In the meantime, I’m going forward with all the crap necessary to be cleared for surgery — at least five appointments with a 50-dollar co-pay a pop.

Although a long metal nail through my arm bone would be a cool X-Ray to have, I’ll be dancing a jig if I don’t need surgery. The only downside is that I’d heal faster with the nail than without it. And since getting back to work is my number one priority, I’m tempted to hammer a nail in there myself.

Deborah lost it this morning. Lately, she’s only been working two days a week — bookkeeping one day a week for two different clients. This morning, one of them emailed her and told her not to come in today. She threw something. I didn’t see what it was.