Singlehandedly

One of the first things that people ask when they see my right arm in the sling is: “Are you right-handed?”

Sure enough, my right hand is dominant. It has been ever since grade school in France nearly fifty years ago. Ambidextrous when I started school, the teachers allowed me to write and draw only with my right hand.

Now, not being able to use my right arm meant that I’d need to depend on my left arm and hand. While I haven’t learned to write with my left hand, I have gotten better at using my left hand in other ways. At first, I used a spoon for eating. I was clumsy, but my coordination gradually improved enough to use a fork fairly skillfully. Using chopsticks with my left hand is still a challenge. However finger-spelling, which I’d never done with my left hand, was immediately easy and fluid.

It didn’t take me long to realize that the challenge of having my arm in a sling wasn’t that I had suddenly become left-handed. No, this was about becoming one-handed. So many activities require both hands: one hand holds the dish, the other cleans; one hand holds the check while the other signs it; one hand holds the jar so the other one can open it. The sound of one hand clapping? Indeed.

The cold truth was I couldn’t take the world with only one arm. I needed help.

Before I could use a spoon or fork, I would have to ask someone to cut my food. I couldn’t take the screw top off the pill bottle because I didn’t have a hold on the bottle, never mind being able to tie my shoes or buckle my belt.

The fall happened last month in Australia and meant I had to pack one-handed to come home. Whoa, was that a slow, cumbersome process! Only when my suitcase was full did I realize I couldn’t close it myself. Thankfully, Glen Hall showed up just in time to help me close the bag. Not only that, but she took me to the airport, got my luggage to the counter and made sure I was checked-in and ensconced in a wheelchair.

Through this period of injury and limitation, my better half, friends, colleagues, and students have been here to help and support in so many ways. I was particularly touched by the student who arranged to have two dinners delivered after the surgery to make things easier at home.

Once I was starting to feel better, one of my ATM teaching partners, Michelle Miotto, drove me to and from each class. After canceling all my individual lessons it felt so good to be able, at least, to keep this commitment.

A few days ago, Marcia Margolin stopped by to give me another Functional Integration lesson. As her hands guided me, the tension in my arm, shoulder, neck, and rib-cage began to fade, slowly being replaced that familiar Feldenkrais feeling of connection and ease. I sat up to find my arm hanging easily and my neck long and free.

After the operation, I started getting itchy in places I couldn’t reach. I would find myself alone with an itch in a place my left hand just couldn’t scratch—no matter what. That’s when I remembered the present from Robin, Marcia’s daughter, a few years ago: a backscratcher with the standard miniaturized hand, all fingers curved together at one end, and three small wooden massage wheels at the other end. Where was it? I had played with the backscratcher the day I got it and then put it somewhere. Then I remembered: I had hung it on the coat rack by the front door.

The relief of finding the backscratcher in no way compared to the joy of being able to reach those far-off places.

Reaching those places on my own felt wonderful—but nowhere near as wonderful as the generous assistance and care that I’ve received—and keep receiving. I am so grateful; thank-you all! There’s just no way to get through this single-handedly.