my hands

I have failed to sufficiently appreciate my hands. They do so much for me, and in the week after oxaliplatin when they are limited and occasionally taken from me, I miss them terribly.

I have a surfeit of time these days. Violet is in school and my parents take Sylvie all day. I have no responsibilities.

I spend this time resting or reading, unable to do what I really want to do because of the current limitations of my body.

Organic ceramic shapes form in my mind and I can’t mold them because the clay is too cold. Cooking is painful unless I leave all the ingredients out for at least an hour, so they can come to room temperature before I begin chopping. There’s a cold snap, which renders gardening impossible.

I knit for hours still, but my hands cramp and get stuck in a contorted posture. I massage the base of my thumb. I try hand and wrist stretches.

A friend sent me microwavable mittens, which I wear in bed. My hands feel better, but they remain largely unusable. Even typing is harder with this odd prickly vibrating sensation in my fingertips.

In the car, I point the air vents away from me so the AC won’t touch my hands.

I always took my hands for granted. I regret that now. Thank you, Cancer, for giving me new appreciation for all the ways my hands help me to function throughout the day. On practical levels of course, but also when it comes to self-expression and creativity. I’m nothing without my hands.

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