Nightmare on Main Street

For the 37 years I have been in business, I have always had a basket of "work" in my car, by my bed, and where I watch television. I usually cringe at how much I "have to do" - as though it is something I dread to do.
Fast forward to Halloween week. I go to the rheumatologist about other lupus-related things going on. I hadn't mentioned my hands, but as I physically unbent my right index finger with my left hand to write something, it stopped the doctor in her tracks. Seems I have developed Trigger Finger on the right hand, carpal tunnel on the left thumb. Both severe. I have to have them immobilized for 6 weeks. Sounds simple.
The first test was the car one. When we were young, we bought my mother a car floor mat with a brake pedal : back-seat driving was her specialty. The first thing my husband asks when we get in the car - "where's your needlepoint?". For a good reason. If I am watching, it is continually necessary for me to jump, gasp or scream to save us from immediate destruction. Oh, Lord, I am my mother! I prefer not to watch almost as much as he prefers it. We drove on a short trip the other day. It wasn't pretty.
The next test: church. I sing in the choir. I have long held contempt for those who "dog-eared" the music to turn the pages. There is no earthly reason to deface the music like that. Luckily, I had the anthem for Sunday memorized or I would have been in deep trouble. I must have had a look of horror on my face when I found I couldn't turn the page, because I noticed one on the face of Miranda who stands next to me when she realized I wasn't turning any pages. And God said "Ha!". Must now be one who dog-ears.
Now to television. I listen. I seldom look up - except for the Netflix Borgia series which was so incredibly horrible I couldn't look away for entire series. I had no idea what characters I thought I knew looked like. Seems my imagination was better than reality. Except for the actor Shemar something on Criminal Minds, my inner reality was better. Now I HAVE  to watch. It is maddening just to sit there like a lump and not do something. I HATE JUST SITTING. There is nothing to do but eat while you sit there. I will be a pig by the time this is over.
Cooking is interesting, as is eating. I keep poking myself in the eye with the metal finger. I chopped onions the other day and the left brace is a constant  reminder of that.  The smell may never go away.                                                 What this tells me is that the work I felt I HAD  to do is actually the work I LOVE  to be doing. I guess that I never knew how much.