The Arm

I am so sick of . . . the arm. It has been a very slow process. Far slower than I have been able to accept at times. Argh!

Thankfully I am now sleeping a whopping five hour stretch on a good night. Up until New Year’s Eve, things seem to have been getting on an even keel. It was, workable, doable. I could reluctantly get with this status.

A day or so after the new year and it all went pear shaped. New sensations emerging, yet again; nerves, muscles, lack of patience, you name it. I am not complaining, just surprised. After six and a half months I had finally begun to accustom myself to the numbness and lack of sensation in parts of my forearm. Places where the sensation wasn’t quite precise other than you feel . . . something.

Now there are sections of muscle where I previously couldn’t sense movement that are, surprisingly, coming to life. Some sharp, some dull, but definitely more than what they were. Some a bit uncomfortable, and all this wears me out.

I keep a journal because, well, as a writer, my experiences are open to use in defining and expressing a character. When or how I will utilize this knowledge I have no clue. I just want to be able to go back to it and remind myself of what it was like. How it made me feel. Then I can be in the moment, mood, of a character. See through their eyes for a brief moment.

What we say, how we say it and even the why can all be lumped into attitude and perspective. That is a fact of life. So to write a character that comes off the page and has a voice that you can identify and hear in your head as you read the words, helps to obtain as much of that inner stuff as possible when writing said character’s dialogue or thoughts.

So here today, when I thought I was moving along nicely. A huge improvement that contains set backs, sleeping, movement, better and worse at the same time. Then comes in that frustration of the cycle beginning again. A cycle of improvement, adjusting to the improvement, it all saps energy and need more sleep, pain that will be easing as my brain and nerves start working together again. More range of motion means muscle fibers not accustomed to the movement letting their discomfort known. It is just, well, it just is. A good is, but also vicious at the same time. This is an interesting emotional state to document, and I wonder how I can use this in a story somewhere.

Well, that is how it works for me; may not be how anyone else does it.

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