OK, now I’m excited
Welcome to this week’s Reno News & Review.
I’m getting little body rushes as I write this. I’ve finally scheduled the surgery to fix my right hand, and by the time this newspaper is on the stands, I’ll know the results.
I’ve got this thing called Dupuytren’s contracture—sometimes referred to as “trigger finger”—which is somewhat hereditary, but trauma kicks it off, and there’s an aspect of high blood sugar in the mix. It’s collagen deposits on the tendons in my palm. The result is my pinky is curled in, as though I’m making a half-fist all the time. People who know me well don’t generally know I’ve got the disease—although I’ve written about it here, what’s that tell you? But it’s not the kind of thing you brag about. In fact, the only time I talk about it at all is when I shake someone’s hand, and then I have to tell them, “It’s not my secret handshake; I just have a funky finger.”
I’d leave the danged thing alone, since I’ve learned to type without it over the years, but I’m afraid I’m going to catch it on something and either rupture the tendon or rip my pinky off. No joke, it’s that stiff.
I’ve also got the contracture in my left hand, and I’ll probably have to get it cut one of these decades, but it’s not as bad yet.
I’m a little trepidatious. I don’t know about you, but I hate going all the way under sedation. I asked if they could do it with a local anesthetic, but I guess it’s really important that I not move while the surgeon scrapes my tendons. So they’re going to put me in a place called twilight. I generally like that place, except for the recent invasion of vampires.
My friends came out of the woodwork to keep an eye on me for 24 hours post-op. It’s kind of weird, but I’m more comfortable with female friends when I have medical stuff done. Probably a dude thing. I think I’m fortunate to have so many friends who will take time from their busy lives to help me out. Wish me luck.