Life has been very brisk these past few months. Work, then a broken wrist, a change of home, and of course, the tragic attacks in Paris just over a week ago.
I’m finally firmly at home in my new city. A bigger apartment with a garden, in a quiet area – it’s immensely refreshing. The cats are noticeably happier than in the studio, and love looking out our French doors into the garden. While moving with a broken wrist wasn’t easy, I have been grateful for the medical leave it entailed, since it’s also allowed me to take the time to find my bearings more thoroughly.
Physical therapy for the wrist started a couple of weeks ago; I’m finally able to start lifting small things and type for more than ten minutes without exhausting pain. It happened while roller skating, as part of tryouts for a roller derby team here. After two hours of exercises and skating, my thighs started telling me, “welp, it’s Friday evening and I’m tired!” I tried one last jump, but as I turned to make it, sure enough, my pivot leg’s thigh gave out. I fell, and did what you’re not supposed to do – put out my right hand. I felt my wrist break beneath my wrist guard. Both forearm bones were broken crosswise and had fractures along their length as well, but thankfully none of the smaller wrist bones were injured. The surgeon put in three temporary pins, and six weeks later they were pulled out and reeducation could begin.
Paris has been very quiet since Friday the 13th. We are still living, and hoping that tolerance and joie de vivre will prove stronger than fear. I’ve most enjoyed seeing how very many people are truly applying it to their lives, too. It’s an amazing experience; one that I hope continues in peace.