I’m looking at my right hand. There’s a two inch scar, now, down the thumb side, where they cut in and took a bone out. Oh, they explained the whole procedure, what they didn’t say is “it will look different. It won’t look the same.” And, it doesn’t. I’m a bit freaked out about that.
It is not the same strong looking hand that has shaken a thousand other hands, with a nice wide palm. It is definitely less broad, and seems less than it was. It’s no longer the same hand that held my grandma’s frail one the last time I saw her, nor the one that threw the ball to my grandpa in my backyard, not the same one that went on adventures and was strong enough to pull me up trees and mountains, and masterfully skipped a rock across a lake.
I actually feel a sense of a little less of who I was and it’s just my hand.
Imagine our girls and boys-so much of themselves is taken away. So what, I need to tell myself, if your hand is different…it still works, it’ll heal soon, you’ll be able to write again. So, what if it isn’t the exact same, it’ll be OK.
I’m not sure where I’m going with this, but I guess I wish someone had told me when Katie was little, that yes she will be different, BUT, it will be ok. She may not be able to do what she could, but she’ll do what she can. She won’t be the exact same as she was, but she’ll be who she can be.
See, when I look at her, I don’t see someone less than she was (less broad and strong like my hand) but stronger because of the scars (regression, anxiety, little language, pain, seizures, kyphosis….) she carries, yet with fortitude, strives to overcome.
To put it in perspective, I just have to get used to a different feeling hand, our children have to get used to a whole different them. So, in the end, I guess, the thing to concentrate on is not that my hand is different, but that Katie’s still fits in it just fine and it will be ok.