Red Right Hand

For those keeping track, you will have noticed I missed my regular, self-appointed deadline for weekly writing.

This has not gone unnoticed. As soon as I realized I was not going to make my deadline, I took a good hard look at myself, and made it clear that I wasn’t impressed. I was inclined to agree, but I had a good excuse, and I wanted things to be good between me, so I made my case. Initially, I was not interested in trying to see eye to eye, but I won me over.

Sunday evening, I headed into the city to see a comedy show. When the opportunity of a show had risen, during the last weekend of the festival no less, I leapt – I have since learnt leaping is not my forte. I was running late, I had parked my car, and was doing my level best to race across the city on foot. I sped across Lonsdale St, lightly touched over the traffic island, and soon discovered that the equation of my inertia, the rain-slicked asphalt and the lack of grip on my runners were leading to a single painful answer.

The inevitable occurred to me with enough time to brace myself, but even after a lot of thought and questioning by a professional (an osteopath), I don’t fully understand what happened. I hit with my hands, but the swelling and scraping of my knee indicates it took a heap of the force. My shoulder got it worst, no visual damage, but leaving me in a lot of pain. Realising the beautiful view of Lonsdale St was only possible by lying on my back in the gutter, I quickly got up. Traffic waits for no man. My phone was metres away, screen up. I scooped it up with my good hand, and continued to the comedy show. (albeit now a pained stumble)

I finally saw the osteopath after realising something nasty had happened – no strength in my shoulder, and having to literally lift my forearm to do things. He informed me that had I sprained it any worse, things would be broken, but I’d heal. And so heal I shall. After noting his advice, we went to settle the bill. Insert card, check the amount, enter my PIN.

I froze.

My PIN number is not a value I know – it’s a muscle memory, I type without thought or hesitation. However, my typing hand is currently incapable of fine movements, and so could not perform the task. I tried with my left and quickly struck out. How is it that a number that important has been transformed into a rote action with zero awareness? I tried repeatedly until my card was locked. My blood ran cold, but the osteo, he’d seen this before – he was cool.

The bank and I sorted the card issue, but it made me aware of just how much of my banking security i have put into the reflexes of my right hand. There was no way I could recall the numbers, not under duress or any form of stimulant. the only way i could get to them was to type them in without stress or undue attention. Of course, having forgotten them so much, I was now paying complete attention to the quick, rhythmic pattern. I hesitated, and fired off the pattern, stabbing the “OK” button and hoping for the best – it worked, and I noted the sequence, but it was not a sequence I would have ever guesed.

I am now cradling my damaged arm, and fearing at what other knowledge is trapped in my right hand. The less dominant of the two, but obviously one I’ve entrusted with powerful secrets, it’s complex network of tendon and muscle locking away things that I will invariably call on, but will never wish to share with any other. Not even lefty, apparently.

I must get it replaced with a bionic, as soon as possible.

~ by nick on April 26, 2012.

One Response to “Red Right Hand”

  1. Eeek! Bionic Nick will definitely be invited to comedy next year. I’m so sorry what was to have been a great night out ended up like this. But I’m glad you are on the path to recovery. Feel better soon.

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