OK, truth be told: I am a wuss. I've been pretty much curled up in bed, moaning over my throbbing right arm, since last Thursday. My MRI is scheduled for tonight (Happy Valentines Day! Other people get flowers, I get magnetic resonance imaging...)--one of the teachers from my Sunday School class is taking me. It's not like they are going to sedate me or anything, but I just felt like I needed someone to go with me--being by yourself and hurting and somehow expected to gut it out is a challenge. This morning, I called Amtrak to get assistance with my baggage for tomorrow's trip to Rhode Island and ended up talking to an employee who has a ruptured disc and arthritis, who was full of advice. I was grateful, but also more than a little sheepish--he's got it far worse, as do my dear Grandmommy (whose eye-dilation last week somehow went wrong, leaving her still unable to see properly) and my bosses sister (whose second breast-cancer surgery last Friday went well)--both of whom have called me over the last couple of days to tell me they are thinking about/praying for me and to let them know what they can do to help! Sheesh. They are amazing. I keep thinking about my sweet friend Paxifist, who's suffered from ongoing arthritis pain since childhood, and doesn't let it slow her down, and here I am with a couple of numb fingers and an aching arm for only a week and I'm worthless, unable to sleep without painkillers, and finding it hard to think beyond the tasks of toothbrushing and dressing myself.
I did make myself go deliver six lamps to consignment yesterday before I wussed out again and retired to the dubious comfort of my overripe sheets. I sold eight lamps in January; six at an estate sale and two at the consignment place. I have six more in various stages of completion on my living room floor, but having a mostly non-functional right arm means they may stay that way for the foreseeable future. A numb index finger makes writing, typing, and holding a Drimel tool less easy than normal.