Those Rebellious Hands

My hands refuse to cooperate.  I don’t ask remarkable things of them.  No classical piano playing, no awe-inspiring sleight of hand magic tricks, and not even those art classes I’ve been thinking about.

So what ridiculous demands am I making of my hands?  Turning doorknobs to enter a room.  Shaking hands with people. Typing, clicking my mouse, and even picking up my MacBook Air.  Love my MacBook, but it’s a little heavier than air.  Especially to those of us with Rheumatoid Arthritis.

Occasionally, someone will ask me to hold something for them.  I scrutinize the object, quickly estimating its weight.  The last thing I want to say is that it’s too heavy.  Why? Because the response is usually “Oh, it’s not heavy at all.”   Why is it so difficult for me to explain that my hands hurt and they don’t always respond the way I want them to? So, I grasp the object in question, hold it with my hands and secure it with forearms, my chest, or anything else that will prevent me from dropping it.

Learning to make accomodations for all my affected joints – hands, feet, knees, hips, and whatever hurts that day – is a continuing challenge. But my hands frequently give me more trouble than my other joints. At times, my hands are so uncooperative, I think they may belong to someone else.

Maybe…..

thing

Thing from the Addams Family seemed to enter the scene right on time. So, no… that can’t be the hand(s) I have.

Or… The Hands of Orlac.

456147.1020.a

Yes, more likely. Those hands had a homicidal life of their own.  

That movie did not end well.  Here’s hoping I maintain better control of my hands.