Glitter

So, I went to the doctor yesterday because I have been suffering from a repetitive motion injury in my wrist since Christmas. I wish I could say the repetitive motion that caused the injury was cross country skiing or rowing or something else really exciting. Alas, the injury was the result of crocheting an afghan for our 14-year-old grandson. I was running out of time, so I spent large chunks of time working on it, yada, yada, yada. My nephew tells me that I should at least tell people it is an injury resulting from doing Ultimate Crocheting. Hmmmm.

Anyhoo, as a result of this injury, which is quite painful and limits my strength, the doctor has put me in a removable cast, really more of a splint. I need to wear it for 24 hours a day, only taking it off to shower. I need to wear it for three weeks and then she’ll reevaluate.

So, I was feeling pretty sorry for myself. I don’t know why, really. It doesn’t restrict me that much, and it is, after all, removable, allowing me to take it off if necessary. Still, there it is, a visible reminder that I’m growing older. It looks so, well, medical.

In the afternoon, my husband and I went to our 5-year-old granddaughter’s school where they were having a birthday party for her. The teacher has a party each month for all of that month’s birthday celebrants. Doncha know, Miss A is the only March birthday, so she was the prima donna. Her mom brought some treats and some crafts for the kindergartners to work on, and assigned me to a table. My job was to supervise the seven or eight kids at the table as they decorated a paper shamrock using glitter glue, buttons, beads, ribbons, pasta, and so on. They ended up with absolutely glorious shamrocks, and I feel sorry for the person who has to clean up the classroom afterwards. There was glitter and beads and glue everywhere.

As we were leaving the school, I looked down at my splint and saw that it was covered in glitter. At first I was distressed, because anyone that has tried to get glitter off of anything knows it’s nearly impossible. But then I began thinking that maybe it was kind of pretty, in a 5-year-old sort of way.

Yesterday I talked about spreading joy, so now I’m going to try to practice what I preached. I guess I can look at my temporary handicap as a limitation. Or maybe I should forget how disabled the splint makes me look and just think of it as a big, glittery bracelet. Really big. Really glittery.