Betrayed By My Hand

One of the shitty things about getting older is that your body just starts betraying you for no reason at all. Take my hands, I have always been good to my hands. I take care of my nails. I use hand lotion. I give them lots of yarn to play with... And still, they betray me.

Yeah, so all that power knitting before Christmas, combined with the repetitive stress of cashiering, have given me a stress injury that I'm pretty sure is trigger thumb. It really kicked in about a week before Christmas, and I only kept going a few days until the Christmas knitting was done. (And I finished it, with a couple of days to spare.) Then, I told T, "I'm just going to rest it until January 1. That should be enough time."

But no. It's January 3. And my hand still hurts. A lot. I mean a really lot. I'm mainlining Advil and Ibuprofen (I don't know if you are supposed to take those at the same time or not, but I am. If you are a medical professional and that's a bad thing to do, let me know.) and splinting my hand any time I'm not at work. I don't splint it at work because I wouldn't be able to work with the splint on.

And I have stuff to do, people. Stuff I need my hands for. We're moving, remember? So I've got to pack. And schlep boxes. I can't just sit around with a splint on my hand, waiting for my thumb to get better like some kind of... T Rex or something.

Anyway. I will give it another week. Stay tuned.