The Old Coot is a righty; once again

By Merlin Lessler —

I got my right hand back! It was missing for over a year. It rolled into town the other day and said, “Did you miss me?” I sure did. 

It left without a warning. I woke up one morning and its function went AWOL. Two finger joints were locked in the fully open position. Another one opened and closed, but with a loud snap and a yelp from me. I was left with a working thumb and little finger. I could get the besieged ones bending a little, if I wiggled them under a stream of hot water. 

That only lasted a short while. Then, a second attack was made on the knuckles in my palm, creating a burning sensation that never took a rest. 

Mister “Arthur-itis,” that angry old man who menaces old coots, had launched an attack. He did that once before to the little finger on my left hand, but gave that up after a year, saying, “Here, you can have it back.” 

It functioned okay after that, but lost its ability to bend all the way down to touch my palm. Good enough, I thought. (I’ll pause now while you check to see how your little finger does.)

Now, I have my right hand back, but other than the burning in my palm I survived. I could even hold a pickleball paddle without dropping it too often. As long as I wore a thick, cotton gardening glove with grippers embedded in the cloth. It’s a wide handle; if it was narrow, like my golf club handles are, it wouldn’t have worked as well. 

I did continue to play some golf, but even with the glove it was difficult to hang on tight, sending some of my shots into the wilds; but at least I now had an excuse for my record high scores. I looked like an idiot with that big mitt on my hand when I stepped up to the tee to drive. But it’s an image I’m used to and have become comfortable with. 

I prepared for just such an event years ago by doing crossword puzzles with my left hand, along with a few other things, like eating left-handed. I was in my 50’s at the time; I thought it might be a good idea to be prepared for a broken arm or an injury or condition that would immobilize my right arm and hand. I must have sensed that one day I’d be an old coot. 

It was that kind of thinking that got me my first job in the electrical utility business; in the planning department. To me, it’s how you should wade through the waist high sludge they call old age. Kind of like the scout motto, “Be Prepared.” But in this case, “Be prepared, and adapt!” Both physically and mentally! 

Anyhow, “Welcome home old Righty; It’s so nice to have you back!”

Comments? Complaints? Send to mlessler7@gmail.com.