Posted by: kathandroger | April 7, 2019

Life with one arm.

It has been ten days since I was so cruelly ejected from my bicycle by a rampant dog. What a bloody nuisance! The broken arm is a useless appendage which hangs beneath my floppy clothing and does nothing but cause very unsociable sweating. And I  can’t reach the area with deodorant, so have to suffer the ascension of the undesirable odours with seeming implacability. Smile and pretend it is someone else, as with other effluents. Cleaning teeth and wiping bums is a a skill rapidly learned, but the other major problem has been that I wear contact lenses, and have no emergency spectacles to wear. What to do? Either spend my life unseeing, or try to put them in with the inaccurate left hand. The latter was chosen. Lenses up noses, falling from eyebrows, getting stuck in my porridge, and generally not reaching the intended destination. Eventual success was tempered by abject failure of removal in the evening. But such is life, and my temporary misery is nothing compared to others with permanent handicaps. The multiple skin scabs have been falling like leaves from a tree, and my now white bearded face is reappearing from the shrouds of multiple abrasions. The stitched up lip will, I hope, soon regain its function; at the moment whistling for the dog to come back results, not with any audible sound, but with the involuntary and unattractive loss of oral fluids. The dog seems quite amused by it all and, as usual, does whatever she wants to do.

Showering is both essential and complicated. A special waterproof sling has been meticulously fashioned from an old discarded bicycle inner tube, and serves well in the inelegant process of reaching all those difficult and intimate places that really must be reached. And the drying process involves well guarded exposure to the air; it is a pity that it is not a bit warmer, a chaps family jewels are barely noticeable. Putting two legs into the same trouser leg has become the norm, not aided by cursing aloud, and it only underlines my lack of mobility.

Typing this little epistle with the left hand has meant many hours of dedicated toil, hence the late arrival of this weeks episode. So what have been the good things about the episode? Well friends of course, without whom I would have gone completely mad. Thanks to all.


  1. Poor you Roger, although I have to admit your blogs always manage to put a smile on my face, even in your adversity! It’s the images you conjure up so eloquently 😊
    I do hope full recovery is quick, do take care.
    Sharon x

    • Thanks Sharon, already on the mend!

  2. Bon courage Roger. Beard growing through scabs — great look, I’m sure 🙂

  3. Better than the smelly pus from my elbow!

  4. Well done with the left-digit triping!
    You were looking much better than I expected on Friday!!
    Keep on trucking….

  5. I remember well the frustration of learning to do things with the wrong hand when I broke my arm twenty years ago. I also remember that pong!
    A sense of humour certainly helps!

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