An Open Letter to My Left Hand

Dear Left Hand,

I am sincerely sorry for falling on you and breaking one of Wrist’s bones. It was painful. What might have been worse was the relief I felt when realizing your superior twin, Right Hand didn’t break, because it’s like my, never mind. You have been in a rivalry since birth, but that isn’t what I meant.

Let me start by thanking you for not waking me up at night. It must be difficult while being restricted by the air cast. You’ve never complained, except for when you reflexively tried to grasp the lettuce box as it slipped from Right Hand. I felt that yelp of pain.

I’m sure you think I like Right Hand best. I use it a lot more often than you and the truth is I find it stronger and more dexterous. So I’ll admit that I am guilty of this favoritism.

I shouldn’t have been so insensitive when frustrated by your limitations in the past.

When I heard that it was good for you to be used, I let you blow-dry my hair. You missed my head altogether. Then you tried to brush it, but couldn’t get the angle of the bristles into the strands. The worst was when you bruised my gums when brushing my teeth.

I oftentimes have no idea what you are doing.

One night, I drove home from a restaurant and discovered you still held a napkin from dinner. I assumed you were replicating the blanket I held as a child and had tried your best to keep me calm while socializing. I’m sure it never crossed your mind to stuff it in my mouth. Right?

I laughed when you flailed around and spazzed out while mimicking my preferred Right Hand. For that I am sorry. Now that you are in a sling, I see that you are trying to work and stretch your unused muscles whenever you can. Relax for five more weeks, please! Left Shoulder and Elbow could use a vacation.

After the less than urgent care nurse put you in an air cast rendering you useless, I realized how much you do for me.

You pull heavy suitcases through airports to keep Right Hand free.

You are the stabilizer that holds the can as I crank the opener.

You hold the bread as I slice it and my head when it’s tired.

You hold heavy bags while Right Hand turns knobs.

You toss balls for Right Hand’s serve.

Without you I can’t open Ziplock bags or jars.

You open doors and pull the seatbelt across my body just like your twin.

You help with the heavy lifting. Without you it’s impossible for me to carry my crockpot, Mixmaster, or pots of boiling water without fear of dropping them.

Right Hand can’t hang clothes by itself.

You keep trays balanced.

You keep bowls and plates from sliding across the table as I scoop food.

Now I realize Right Hand often plays hot potato with items. It stuffs as much as it can into you to keep itself free.

The one place where you and your twin are equals is in typing. In fact, this may be your calling. Your twin has a tendency for wandering and takes its fingers off the keys. You are rock steady and keep yours at home. I appreciate that very much.

It’s my mother’s fault, you know. There was a time when I could have become ambidextrous. You and Right Hand would be equals. She pulled the spoon from your grip for fear I would be the kid in class who needed the left-handed scissors. It was a different time when kids were scorned for being lefties. Believe me, I would love to be able to switch my tennis racket from Right Hand to you or sign my name with a different slant, or draw with the other side of my brain.

Since my fall, there has been a misunderstanding. When I was glad I fell on you, it was because I protected Left Knee. “Oh, him again,” you say. Well, yeah. We need to protect him. He had a rough year.

I hope this clears things up. Yes. It will be another five weeks before you are released to your duties. Relax and be glad Right Hand is here to take up the slack.

Even though you try, there is no way, you’ll ever be exactly the same as Right Hand, but don’t be sad. I appreciate your unique qualities. You’re a part of me. We’re a team. Team Susie Lindau.

Hey. I see you flailing around making fun of me while I’m writing this. Now what did you do with my napkin?

Sincerely,

Susie Lindau

 

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