I’ve been spending a lot of time thinking about my hands lately. Until now, my latest problem was some kind of muscular problem at the base of my thumb that doesn’t fit any singular diagnosis. After three more months of weekly occupational therapy and twenty minutes a day of hand, finger, and wrist-strengthening exercises, I can go for longer periods using my hands without pain. This is definitely progress. I also don’t type all day anymore, which definitely helps.
Now I have a new ailment to add to my keychain of pain: a knobby swelling of the knuckle on the middle finger on my left hand which feels a lot like osteoarthritis. According to the radiologist’s report, my X-rays are “unremarkable.” Not even worth talking about. Hmph. All I know is that I wake up every morning feeling swollen and looking freakishly inflamed, like I have a bunion on my finger. Could it still be arthritis, but just not show up on the x-ray? I feel like all of the problems I’ve had with my hands and arms have been this way: not-quite carpal tunnel, not-quite tendinitis, not-quite pinched nerves. Not-quite legitimate.
I have become quite the complainer.
Regardless of the (lack of) diagnosis, we still have to treat the symptoms. In the world of OT, that means more splints. I got a turquoise neoprene finger sleeve to wear at night (I imagine a factory somewhere where workers decapitate gloves, sending the resulting fingerless remnants to weightlifters). When my pain didn’t subside, she made a(nother) custom splint ($230 billed to Blue Cross), shaped like an old 110-film canister, that imprisons my middle finger between its two adjacent fingers. This is supposed to keep me from overextending it. Instead, it mainly restricts my ability to use my left hand and cuts off the circulation to my pointer finger.
My problem, they all say, is that I’m hypermobile. Allegedly my joints are very flexible and I can hold myself in unhealthy postures to compensate for muscle weakness and bad posture, even in my hands. Giving me a splint usually means that my body will just create a workaround that will do even more damage. And so, the cycle continues.
It’s kind of funny that my body is set up to unwittingly sabotage my progress. Every time I go to the OT “gym” (where the hardest exercises include picking pennies hidden in of a huge blob of putty), I feel like I am being reprimanded for my hyperflexibility. There’s probably a metaphor in there somewhere. Am I bending to meet everyone else’s needs, instead of making myself stronger?
Hmph.
this gruntled worker 