My right wrist gets a work out. Between strumming the guitar, and pushing twelve yards of fabric under the needle, on top of the regulars like washing the cast iron pans and carrying the laundry baskets, I expect a lot. Every day. No time off for good behavior. Which she exhibits.

 

Recently I have had trouble ignoring the ache in that joint. I've tried to be gentle. Given up opening jars. Declined all offers to be on a float in a parade. Tried to quilt less. Well, that didn't work. 

 

This week I bought a brace. The sheer variety of options suggested to me that I am not the only person to go looking for borrowed strength. Without any recommendations, I picked one. Fortunately I happened to grab a right wrist option, even though I did not look carefully enough to check. 

 

I am amazed. There has been not a whiff of discomfort, and yet I am able to continue with the demanding pace I have come to enjoy. This is a good thing. I am unsure whether it will be a short term option, to rest my arm, or will become a part of my routine for awhile. 

 

The other day I went to visit a lovely elderly woman who hurt her back. I brought soup, but more importantly my full attention. She too is sporting a brace on her back. She says it has helped. Her pain is less, and healing has had a chance to settle in. 

 

Sometimes people come to John or me for support. It may be in the form of a small group, or a phone call. Emails work when distance is a factor. If we go out as a foursome there is structure, in that people listen without interrupting. This does not always happen when conversations are jammed into the cracks of a demanding day. The dog is barking, the baby is crying, and the toast is burning so who has time to hear the full answer? Often it is a short term arrangement, as healing begins. Then again, we started a marriage group three years ago that shows no signs of petering out.