Handedness

Being one of the weird few, I've always been interested in left-handedness. Why? Who? How? What does it mean, besides giving others something else to use to point out to you just how peculiar a creature you really are?

My brother and I are both left-handed. Our parents aren't, and going back beyond that is pointless because they made lefties into righties with the zeal of a religious conversion back then. Our kids are righties, although Paul, my youngest, was ambidextrous for several years before settling on his right. My granddaughter, however, is another leftie, and that raises the question of whether it skips generations, at least in my family. As the only representative so far of her generation, it's not a large enough sample.

Twenty or thirty years ago there was one of those quizzes that pop up in magazines where you can test yourself and find out what you probably already knew. This time it was on handedness. Not whether you were right- or left-handed. What would be the point? But on just how right- or left-handed you were compared to everybody else. There's a scale, and some folks fall in the moderate range, and some are extreme. A very few are ambidextrous.

The questions weren't all obvious. For example, when you shovel, or sweep, which hand is on the top of the handle? How much of the time? Usually I can take a test, quickly figure out where the answers should be headed, and how to answer to make them head there. This test was more subtle than that. I think that this means I wasn't able to manipulate it, and the results were more reliable.

When I finished and added up my score, I rated as extremely left-handed. I didn't do anything with my right hand if I could help it. Or if I did, it was terrible. I had to sign paperwork once in submitting a request to replace a lost county check. This was back when I was doing daycare, and some of my kids were paid for by the county. They require signatures (10) by both hands to make sure you weren't cheating them if the missing check ever turned up. I had never tried writing right-handed before, and the results were appalling to the point of being an embarrassment.

It started to change when we got computers installed in our vehicles for work to communicate with dispatch. It sat on a post coming up from the floor on the passenger side, the keyboard sitting right at arm's reach. Right arm, of course. I had to not only learn to type one-handed, but right-handed. I actually got quite good at it, typing while driving without taking my eyes from the road for extended periods. It helped that the keyboard was small enough that one thumb-pinkie stretch covered any 2-key function needed, like control alt + delete. It was my first real experience with right-handedness. It was good practice.

The reason this is relevant now is that it's my left arm with the rotator cuff injury. If I'm going to rest the arm properly to let it heal, I'm going to have to treat it as if it were actually in the sling that's recommended. Stop using it, that is. Easy to say, except that I still have to do my job, and that often requires my left arm. I'm just beginning to appreciate how much.

Start with just the driving part. There's pulling the door open, pulling it closed, and that excruciating reach behind for the seatbelt, and that's just for before I even turn the key on. I'm learning to do the first two with the right hand, but the seatbelt part is impossible. I don't twist into a pretzel. I have, however, made an adaption so the pulling-it-out part no longer takes much muscle effort. First, understand that hatchbacks have seatbelt mounts way behind the driver because the door opening is larger than for a 4-door car, allowing a rear seat passenger some room to enter and leave behind the driver's seat. This means not only is the reach farther, but when latched, the belt crosses across the neck, an ideal location for it to be during an accident.

NOT!

Hasn't anybody thought this out yet? I know, just avoid accidents. Still, during normal driving, the location drives me nuts, just like it has in previous Hyundais, and I have reverted back to an old solution to the problem: diaper pins! (Hey, just try to find those in the stores, if you even know what they are!) With the belt latched and snug, pull out a couple more inches slack, mark it, and put a diaper pin through the belt to keep it from pulling back into the retractor. It's still relatively snug, just not tugging on the neck. Of course, it does mean there's excess belt when I get out of the car, and I have to tuck it back behind the seat so it doesn't drop on the ground - or in the largest nearby puddle - with the car door shut on it. So ugly! But with the pin in, when I reach back to find it, I just have to move it, not pull against its spring too. As soon as I move it forward, the right hand can take over with the final pulling across and latching, Much less painful, though not a full cure.

I'm learning to drive with one hand on the wheel, for most situations. The left can lay across my lap, or actually tuck under my wasteband, mimicking a sling in holding it still. (It feels positively Napoleonic, making me wonder if he had more than his stature to make up for, using his classic pose to hide an arm injury from his followers.) When it's time to get out of the car, it takes almost no pressure to unlatch the door, and the shoulder followed by my foot push the door open. Carrying freight, opening building doors, all switch so the least work goes to the left arm. Most of what I do for work is taken care of by those adaptations.

Home is another story. Strange as it seems, it's just not right brushing my teeth with the other hand. I mean, I can and do do it, but it feels wrong. I can dispense pills and fill a water cup with the right hand, so long as I think about it. I can even shave those imaginary chin whiskers that I don't admit to having with the right hand. But brushing my hair takes a knack that I haven't mastered yet. Brushing everything straight back to remove tangles, no biggie. But separating it for a part still requires switching to the left hand and raising it high enough to be really painful even when I try not to, and then fluffing it by lifting and twisting it around the round brush... well, make the face now and say, "Ow," because it's gonna happen that way.

Showering and dressing are their own peculiar brand of torment. Try as I might, the left arm has to get involved. The real pains are the underarms. The left one has to get lifted enough for the right to apply soap, water, and later deodorant, and then reach over to the right side to return the favor. I'm learning to use the right arm to lift the left, which helps, and lean it against the shower wall so it doesn't have to hold itself up, but it's at least partly the position itself and not the pulling to get it there which hurt. Oh, and forget towel drying! If you're old enough to remember being taught to do the Twist for the first time, you remember being told to pretend you have a towel between your hands and you're rubbing it back and forth with them while rotating your hips in the opposite direction. You know, just like you do it in real life, just not for so long. These days I air dry anything the right hand can't reach.

I have a new reason to hate our uniforms. Made for men, the shirt tails are extra long, and have to be tucked in the pants. Then once tucked, tugged back out a bit and bloused out for shape and comfort. This is definitely a two-handed job. Either that, or I go around half unkempt. While a distinctive look, it is true, it's just not one I feel I can carry off with panache.

The worst was the bra. I've been wearing sports bras for comfort for years. (Not continuously: Duh! I do wash them!) They stretch in every direction, and properly fitted don't pinch or bind. Unfortunately, they are one continuous elasticised circle with straps. This means crossing your arms across your chest, grabbing opposite bottom sides, and lifting/pulling with both arms up over your head until it's off. There's a whole lot of pulling to get it on as well. After several days, I gave up and went shopping for some with front closures. If I do it right, there's almost no pulling needed by the left arm, so I don't ache in reaction for half an hour after.

Everywhere I go, everything I do, I bump up against my own left-handedness. If I weren't quite so left-handed, it would be much easier adapting. So far there's been a way to do almost everything, with thought and planning... and a little care. But the thing I couldn't do before at all - write - I can't do at all now either. Lucky for me, it's about the only activity with the left arm that doesn't hurt. Actually, that covers writing either way, holding a pen, or using a keyboard. The low angle of the keyboard allows for leaving the arm itself tucked against my side, and a minimum of wrist and finger action take care of the task.

The mouse, however, is another story. My computer desk has a higher spot on the left for the mouse. I suspect that since the rest of the world uses their mice on the right side, that ledge has a different reason for being higher than providing a different location for the mouse to roll, but that's where mine is. And if you want a really good laugh, just watch me trying to reach across with the right hand and move the mouse AND get it moving in the right direction! It's as bad as working with a mirror. That. hand. just. does. not. get. it.