FINALLY we have sold the house and we’re settled into our new place. One of the things Rob was looking forward to was getting a new BBQ.
Only thing was… he went out and chose it a couple of days after being operated on to correct Dupuytren’s contracture (popularly known as Viking Trigger Finger). This op straightens out a finger that is contracting because (I quote) ” the palmar fascia thickens and shortens so that the tendons connected to the fingers cannot move freely.”
Anyways… Rob had the op with no complications or infection, and once it all heals, this should be the result:
Vikings Trigger Finger – Before and After
Back to the BBQ… The delivery guy deposited two flat pack boxes in the garage. (Are you already beginning to get the picture? Rob… one hand… flat pack BBQ?) Of course, being male, he didn’t want to wait until he had two working hands again. And heaven forbid we should call on one of our strapping great sons. (I must confess I contributed here: “Oh, sure, I can hold things. Yes, I can use a screwdriver. Surely we can manage between us with three hands…? And an outdoor table to balance stuff on…?)
But first, we wanted to move a few boxes around and straighten up the garage, which was still looking a bit shell-shocked after The Big Move. So we did that, and everything was going fine until I tried to pick up a flat wooden box with four presentation wines in it.
My fault. I know better, but still…
You see, I now officially have Dodgy Knees. I should be arranging an arthroscopy to see what exactly is going on, but like a wuss I have been trying not to look possible knee surgery in the face. Anyway, because it hurts to bend my knees, I did exactly what everybody is told NOT to do and bent from the waist to pick up the box. On account of Rob couldn’t possibly do it with one hand.
The box was actually relatively light, but halfway up I KNEW. Dang. There goes my back.
I gradually straightened (Ow ow ow…), took a few deep breaths, deposited the box of wines on top of other boxes, then swore a little. Then assured Rob that no, I was fine, and I could keep going. I’d just ricked it a bit, it wasn’t too bad.
So we kept going. Somehow we unpacked the BBQ, muscled bits of it into place, managed to put it together with the right number of screws and washers and nuts, except for one little bit that had to wait for someone a bit more adept than I (and with two working hands).
As the day wore on, I realised that it possibly hadn’t been a good idea to keep plugging on insisting that my back was fine. It was increasingly NOT fine. By dinner time I was prone on the bed. Rob’s hand (which he’d tried not to bump or use too much, encased in plaster as it was) was aching. (Well, he called it ‘tingling a bit’ which from Mr. Understatement means ‘it hurts’.)
What have we learned from this?
- We hate getting older and having various bits and pieces not working as well as they used to.
- We should acknowledge the fact that sometimes we’re going to need help and not be so darned independent.
But we do have a lovely new BBQ all ready for its inaugural meal.Here’s Rob admiring it (and trying to reply to emails typing with one finger on his left hand):
Looking on the bright side: within a few weeks Rob will be back to two working hands and my back should be fine.
Not sure about the dodgy knees. But I have promised myself to suck it up and go and see about that arthroscopy.