The Bright Side

I got a new cast this morning – one that is a bit less cumbersome and clunky. At least my elbow is free to move and I can see more of my fingers (which still resemble sausages, only slightly paler and more delicate ones than before). If I twist my left (casted) hand into a certain position,  I can reach some keys on my computer and type using both hands, to a degree. But  ouch! That position hurts a lot, so you might not have me here for very long.

Lovely, no?

Before getting this new accessory, I got to choose from a bevy of colors including hot pink, purple, green and two different shades of blue. “I’ll take the dark blue,” I told the doctor, after much deliberation.

I’ve chosen a color for the outside of my house quicker than I chose one for this cast, for God’s sake.

Then the silly conversation ensued.

Hubby, scratching head: Blue? why blue?

Me, searching for a logical reason: I don’t know. It’s subtle. Why should I call attention to myself?

Hubby, protesting: Blue’s so boring. Look at all those other colors! Just don’t pick green. The JETS suck.

(When you live in a house full of football crazies, you realize you take your life in your hands if you somehow “jinx” their favorite team by wearing its colors right after they’ve  suffered a crushing loss).

Me: Okay, you’re right…make it pink.

I was tempted to go with the hot pink in honor of breast cancer awareness month, but honestly, the whole pink/breast cancer thing is in-my-face wearing me out by now. And October is practically over, anyway. So I chose purple.It has a certain… playfulness about it.

I can feel it happening. I’m trying to have fun; be light; look on the bright side! Wrist in a cast for six weeks? Piece of cake. Physical therapy for three or four months? A year before I’m out of pain? Bring it on. I’ve been through much worse.

Much to the chagrin of my in-born tendency to catastrophize and invent an endless list of ‘what-ifs’ (something I’ve mastered since my first spoken word) with that pesky and pushy negative voice in my head, I’m trying real hard here to gather some wisdom  and wit from otherwise relative misfortune.

Because by now, this so-called midlife is telling me that a good attitude will get you a helluva lot further – and keep you a whole lot healthier – than a gloom and doom sensibility.

How exactly do you look at a bad experience in a good light? Here’s my take.

1. At least I didn’t crack my head open. I fell right next to the bathtub, which had a very sharp and precise marble lip that easily could have caught my head.
2. I broke my non-dominant hand. And I can do a lot with my right hand;  eat, lift a glass, put on makeup, wipe myself (I shudder to think of the alternative. Even 31 years of marriage doesn’t ameliorate that fear, I’m afraid).
3. I’m getting an opportunity to let other people pamper me – and can actually indulge in my lazy-fantasies. I can leave dirty dishes in the sink, leave my bed unmade, ask hubby to open a jar for me without feeling like I’m playing the femme fatale role.
4. I can take a nap without feeling guilty. After all, your body heals best when at rest; we all know that.
5. When the paramedics came to take me to the hospital, I was forced to abandon all self-consciousness. How could I worry about how my body looked beneath the towel when all I needed was for them to make the pain go away and deliver me to the nearest doctor? (And who’s looking, anyway?)
6. I’m finally learning how to ask for help.
7. I have an excuse not to work out. If you know me, you know I love to exercise, and the doctor even gave me the green light. But you know what? It feels good to take a break from the gym after all this time.
8. I don’t have to cook. I do like to cook, but truth be told, I’m getting a bit…burned out on it.