I just peed on my housecoat.
Sorry if you find that information an overshare, but it’s a true story. I’m really struggling with daily life since my right paw is still out of commission, following the surgery that should bring it back to something close to its former function. Right now, the right hand is merely decorative, and since it’s swollen, sutured, and seventeen different colours, it’s pretty useless for aesthetic purposes, too.
Since my right hand is basically a prop, I have established a system for visiting the restroom that is one part finesse, one part careful planning, and one part dumb luck. As luck would have it, this last attempt ended badly when my left arm, which was supposed to keep the long parts of my housecoat out of the way, forgot its responsibility and reached for the rollex too early and at an awkward angle. To add to my bathroom failure, I snagged the wee terrycloth loops of my housecoat sleeve on my sutures in my hurry to get out of my compromised housecoat. I saw stars and proceeded to dunk the belt of my robe directly into the toilet bowl. I am super classy right now.
It’s amazing to me how many things have become difficult or impossible for me during this healing period. I adjusted quickly to operating with my left hand when typing for my little blog or to send off plans to my sub. Basic living skills, however, like washing my hair or eating a meal, have become more challenging than I anticipated. I have zero strength in the right hand and I don’t feel safe driving so I’ve stuck around the dollhouse. It’s okay; this is a temporary situation. It really makes me think, though about how lucky I am that most of my parts do what they are supposed to and will again when I finish this recovery process.
I may start figuring out how much I can accomplish with my feet.
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