We're all fine here. (That's a Star Wars joke.)
Today, in the beautifully falling snow we went to see the schmancy surgeon.
We breezed into the city and then hit terrible traffic and wondered, out loud, why there were so many police cars in our favorite visiting-the-surgeon parking spots. We turned on to Park Avenue just as the fellow on NPR started talking about Mario Cuomo's funeral, which was directly across the street.
We did still get a parking spot a few blocks away, and walked, gingerly (we're both a little afraid of falling) to the office.
We didn't see anyone famous - though there were many important people there.
I'm a little sorry to have missed this, but I had to get to work.
We only waited a few minutes. He was his usual formal self and we didn't see the PA (though we love her). So I got to ask him lots of questions.
I told him my palm is still pretty numb.
He said nerves are the last thing to heal and it could take a year and that my palm might never feel like it used to.
I told him my ring finger hurts and described why I think it hurts.
He nodded and agreed.
I showed him my wrist and said I was uncomfortable being able to see the plate.
He said one side was plate but the other side was tendon. He explained that we should be mindful of the tendon as sometimes the plate irritates the tendon and, while I would not feel pain, it would feel like Rice Krispies (something I have experienced in my forearm) and, if that occurred, the plate would have to come out.
I asked how often that happens.
He said 5% of the time.
I asked if my plate was titanium because Bono's elbow is titanium and he said wrist plates are usually stainless steel which he likes better.
I asked if he would let me go back to PT.
He wrote a prescription but explained that fine motor skills, which I lack, must be handled by an OT person.
He said, as he has said before: make me proud.
I intend to.