Hello, end-of-May; time has passed.
My little Umbria was green and lush the morning I left for Puerto Vallarta, back in March. Now it’s my little Tuscany once again, its grasses trimmed and wheat-colored, reflecting shadows of the tall, pointed cypresses.
At the end of March I had surgery on my left hand for Dupuytren’s Contracture, a hereditary thing. Thanks, Dad. Since then, I’ve had energy only for physical therapy and healing. Love is now an icepack, more effective than my prescription pain killers; it calms the stings induced by rehab exercises to break up scar tissue. I didn’t realize the recovery would be so brutal, but this was, in fact, major surgery.
I did attend my Italian family’s annual Easter barbecue. Mario, soon to be 96, whipped around the yard in his wheelchair, passing out avocados from a bag attached to the back of his chair. He told me his computer is “old and sometimes slow.” The time it took me to realize he was referring to his memory made me wonder if his “old computer” is perhaps faster than mine. Yikes.
I’ve returned to work; definitely a mixed blessing. I can once again type, although slower than before, as recovery continues. My physical therapist tells me it’ll be 9-12 months before my hand feels like it “belongs” to my body again.
I’m moving forward, little by little.