WHAT IS HUMOROUS ABOUT THE HUMERUS?

At first they called it a broken shoulder, an idea that seemed simple enough until people started to raise questions.  And so, even though I generally like things to be simple, I studied a bit of anatomy and began referring to it as a humerus broken at the tuberosity.  That is when the real questions revealed themselves.  For example, what, exactly is humorous about the humerus?  It is only an ordinary bone that connects the elbow to the group of bones that are collectively known as the shoulder.  Nothing funny about that, especially when it breaks.  In my opinion, it ought to be called the upper arm bone.  But then, I missed the meeting where they named the bones, so what right have I to speak up after the work has all been done?

 

And then there is the tuberosity.  What in the world is a tuberosity anyway?  From what I understand, and I use the term ‘understand’ loosely, tuberosity is to tubercles what herd is to cows, and flock is to geese.  Tubercles, it seems, are knobs that attach a small army of shoulder muscles to the humerus.  Maybe they are like the tightening screws on guitar strings, the ones that keep the strings connected to the guitar body.  Anyway, when you gather a few of them together they form a tuberosity. 

 

With anatomy questions jauntily set aside, I made myself available to address issues of daily living.  Like, how will I eat with my right arm in a sling, how will I brush my teeth?  These simple questions seemed to resolve themselves.  Left Hand, known affectionately as Lefty, took her new responsibilities very seriously, making impressive progress at skill development.  So commendable was her devotion that I am rewarding her initiative by letting her eat and brush half the time even though Righty is now able to take on some of these duties.  I even intend to let her do some of the eating and brushing when Righty is able to do it without hurting. 

 

So, as you can see, things are coming along nicely.  But some questions still remain.  One that currently gets a lot of my attention is, when will I be able to walk alone?  It is not that I need Righty to punch out would-be attackers, though I confess that the job would probably fall to her if push came to shove.  But I really do need two hands to walk, one to hold the white cane, and the other to carry things, open doors, and find stair rails.  And these hands have to be somewhat interchangeable, which means that Righty will have to give up some of this hurting every time she is asked to do something. 

 

And there was one last troubling question, though I seem to have that one figured out.  How will I get sympathy now that Righty is out of the sling?  I still need sympathy after all, am likely to need it for a while.  For now, I have discovered a workable answer.  I simply wear a long-sleeved sweater over a short-sleeved sweater.  If I notice I am not getting the sympathy I deserve, I carefully remove the outer sweater to reveal a sight that makes them draw in a quick breath and offer to serve me chocolate or anything else I might want.  When I ask them what they see, they describe the scene as an ugly display of black, blue and yellow with no visible sign of an identifiable elbow.  They understand this to be a barometer to measure pain.  Proof positive that, when it comes to measuring pain, seeing is believing.