A week ago it snowed here for the first time this season. My
grandson saw the flakes falling outside the window and came running to me. “Nana!
Your arm is almost all better!” He’d remembered me repeating what they’d told
me in the emergency room in September; that my broken wrist could be back to
normal by Christmas. Snow = Christmas is coming. Christmas = back to normal.
Normal is a relative term, especially when improvement comes so gradually. But
I am getting better. I can pick up a pencil, a sock or my car keys with my left
hand. I can open a medicine bottle and I can scratch my right arm. (Trust me,
this is huge.) Maybe next month I can wring out a washcloth, carry two grocery bags or hold the
railing as I go down the stairs. I think it’s more important to remember how close I
came to missing this holiday season altogether, and to be very, very grateful.
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