Monday, 8 August 2016

When I can't talk about the thing

There's a thing I want to talk about. But can't, really. Not my story to tell. It impacts me and still, I can't talk about that bit without explaining this bit, which isn't mine. 

So we English talk about inconsequential things, like the weather. It's perfect drying weather. Sunny, warm, with a stiff breeze. Useful, because I seem to have caught a flea. All clothes, bedding, the washer hasn't been this busy in ages.

I love watching the silver birches in weather like this. The whole tree dances gracefully, serenely, and the leaves go bonkers. Flicking back and forth, flashing the reflective silver, then the dark green. Like a ballet dancer who just can't help doing Jazz Hands. All the time. 

We talk about illnesses. Of course, someone somewhere has it worse. I have a headache, I have a migraine. I stubbed my toe, my whole leg fell off and I had to hop to the hospital while carrying it. A mild exaggeration, perhaps, but I do actually know several people like that. One stops talking to them after a while, gets a bit more picky.

Ohey, I can add photos from my phone!
This is one of my friend's other cats.

My hand is better - I was trying to get some much needed (should that be hyphenated? Much-needed?) medication into a friend's cat. Wrapped him in a towel, knelt on the floor, cat between my knees. Problem is, you then need three hands. One to immobilise the cat by pinching his scruff (though I've seen a clip on YouTube where a vet uses a bulldog clip to do that, I didn't have one to hand). To hand. I'm so funny. A second hand to force the cat's mouth open, and a third hand to shove in the pill. 

It didn't work. Lightning fast, he twisted his head round, sank his teeth into my index finger and thumb of my right hand. I'm right handed. Of course he sank his teeth in that side. I washed it out, encouraged bleeding, all the things you are supposed to do. It still got infected.

Seems there are three reactions to the news that I can't use my right hand properly. Sympathy - Ow, I bet that hurts. Competitive grossness - When a dog bit my hand it turned GREEN and...[gory details]. And the Meh - ah well, you've got another one.

Long story a bit shorter, I had to go to the doctor's twice. The first time I was so relieved to get some antibiotics to take down the swelling, and was in so much pain, that I totally forgot to check if my tetanus is up to date! It is now. Good old amoxicillin, my old friend. I've had the stuff at least once a year since I was a baby (strawberry flavour, because bananas are horrid). Before Mum corrects me on that, I'm going on averages. There were a few years I didn't need any, but then there have been sinus and ear infections that took multiple courses. Plus a few that were penicillin resistant so got something a bit more exotic.

Modern drugs are awesome. 

So what do you talk about when you can't talk about the thing? I talk about everything else. I don't talk about the thing that might upset this or that person, because, while I'm not responsible for their feelings, I do get to help. I don't talk about the thing that someone did that really upset me. Because that might upset them. I call it my BigSister Mode. Trying to guess what everyone else is feeling, might feel, and protect and support them all. It's exhausting, and I could stop, I suppose. I don't really want to. It's who I am, since even before my baby brother was born.

No comments:

Post a Comment