My Left-Handed Challenges

What’s it like to suddenly–if temporarily–adapt to being left handed? After “minor surgery” on my right wrist (DeQuervain’s release) on August 9th, I’m living a left-handed life. DeQuervain’s release was the surgery necessary to reduce swelling and pressure on a tendon that runs along the side of my wrist near the base of my thumb and also remove a cyst.

Challenging and inconvenient—that’s how I would describe my post-surgical life. Right now, my typing is slow, clumsy and full of typos. My right wrist is in a splint from my thumb to halfway up my forearm. Why bother? I can hear you asking. Answer: the doctor said it was important to exercise my fingers to keep up strength and circulation. No matter that only four fingers can move on my dominant hand. My right hand feels like it’s in a mini strait jacket making my progress very slow. But writing is the only exercise I’m allowed until I can remove the bandages and shower without a plastic umbrella bag over my right wrist. Forming letters with my left hand makes me feel like I’ve regressed to kindergarten!

Today I’m released from wrist prison! Yay! It’s not a pretty picture but at least I can shower normally. Now I can dance and exercise again, but no lifting weights (obviously) without risking infection. No lifting anything more than a pound….

Before I sing “Hallelujah,” I still must overcome occasional sharp pain when I move my thumb, hand or wrist without thinking.

Here are some of the adaptations that I’ve adopted to manage my life:

When dressing, I wear only slip on dresses or shorts with elasticized waists. Bras are an acrobatic feat involving twists and left-handed trial and error. No socks, sneakers or socks if I can help it. Slip on sandals are best. Thank God it’s summer!!

Opening bottles of water or Coke Zero – this can only be accomplished with Samantha or Howard’s help. Luckily, I loosened the tops of all my pill containers before surgery, so I can medicate independently. (Unless I’m clumsy and spill the pills all over the floor!)

Eating is a sloppy enterprise. Everything falls off my fork when I try holding it left-handed. Using my right hand with my third and fourth fingers is only slightly better. Cutting with a knife is not possible, so I must choose my meals carefully. Howard offered to cut my food and tie my shoelaces but I don’t relish being reduced to a three-year old.

I can’t squeeze toothpaste, cleanser or hair conditioner out of a half empty tube. I must use full tubes and leave their caps on loose. I can wash, condition and rinse my hair but I don’t even think of bothering with a hair dryer. If I want to put my hair up or wear a ponytail in the hot, humid weather, I’m out of luck until I find a large hair clip.

On a happier note, I have equipped my bathroom with Charmin easy-tear toilet paper.

Left-handed preparation of my morning Melitta coffee is slow and awkward but possible. Who could face these post-surgery challenges without caffeine?

On Saturday night, I go out without eye shadow and mascara. I can still manage blush and lipstick, but bracelets or rings on my right hand (still swollen and grayish) are not an option. Earrings are also out of the question.

Opening doors and using my key are still possible with my left hand (unless the door is double-locked). But I can’t help noticing that doors and knobs are constructed for the ease and comfort of right-handed people, something I never realized before. The world is still a better place for people who are right-handed. Not much has changed since elementary school when mostly all of our desks had right hand extensions.

Of course, when I’m healed, all of these relatively minor challenges will disappear. I will be able to use my right hand and wrist again without any pain or mental effort. I’m lucky that I live in New York City and was able to choose Dr. Robert Hotchkiss, a top hand surgeon, to perform the “minor” DeQuervain’s release.

I have always admired Paralympic athletes, but now I’m totally in awe of them.