I'll open with some blog trivia:
I named this blog Writing on a Limb because….
A) It's a pun on the fact that I have a cast on my left arm, so I’m writing with only one fully functioning limb.
B) It's meant to symbolize my commitment to writing even if it means taking risks, becoming even more sleep-deprived, and working without much of a plan.
C) I like dead trees and tree silhouettes and needed some way to incorporate them into the design.
And the answer is…
D) All of the above
I believe in the importance of names and beginnings, so I spent far too much mental energy trying to come up with a blog name. Most of my initial metaphors connected to cycling, but since this blog probably won’t discuss cycling very much, I made a list of others things that I like – frisbees, raptors, tree silhouettes, penguins, interpretive dances – and forced my husband to brainstorm with me. When I mentioned trees, he came up with Writing on a Limb, which we thought fit figuratively since I wanted to dive in to the challenge without much planning or free time, and which also worked as a pun since my left arm was in a cast thanks to yet another ultimate frisbee injury. (It was a beautiful dive and we ended up winning the tournament, so it was almost worth breaking my arm the day before classes started. Almost.)
But as of yesterday, option A is no longer true. After six weeks, I finally said goodbye to my stylish cast.
I can type normally again! And carry things less awkwardly! And shower with two working hands and zero plastic bags! And not be bothered by the added weight and the itchiness! And wear blue or brown clothing without clashing with my arm accessory!
And play in the frisbee tournament this weekend! I mean, toss a frisbee very carefully while watching from the sidelines this weekend. (Seriously though, I promise I'm not playing. Now, if it were a women's tournament and they desperately needed players...)
In any case, it’s all very exciting.
Unfortunately I forgot that being released from a cast doesn’t mean I'm back to normal. I knew about the muscle atrophy, and I wasn't fazed by the fact that my arm is still slightly bruised, but I was unpleasantly surprised when my wrist erupted in shooting pains every time I moved it too quickly or bent it too far. I guess that’s why they put me in a brace. But trust me, the fact that it’s removable makes all the difference. I'm still very happy and eager to celebrate my freedom.... very, very carefully.