My Mother used to say that I was so awkward that sometimes my left arm didn’t know what my right arm was doing. She might be right, but for the last few weeks my right arm has been asking what my left arm has been doing all these years. Ever since I had my unplanned meeting with the bitumen on St Kilda Road, my right arm has decided to work to rule. He doesn’t mind lifting the odd cup of tea or tapping out a few keystrokes like this. But you only realise what your dominant arm does when it refuses to do anything in the bathroom involving effusions or teeth brushing.
This is where my left arm comes in. Or doesn’t as the case may be. I realise now that lefty has been taking it easy all these years. Happy to carry the odd suitcase or shopping bag, but only if righty is busy. Happy to do his share of scratching duties and to provide a target for my right hand during applause.
But he’s basically a free loader whose purpose in life seems merely to give me some symmetry.
Righty has done all the important things. Won all those arm wrestling contests that I’ve been secretly taking part in all my life (unbeaten in the last 20), flipped the remote control at home or the calculator at work to the immense annoyance of anyone I’ve ever lived with or shared office space with. And of course he’s the one who reaches out to shake hands with his corresponding appendage on anyone I meet. I’m not wearing a cast and give up on the sling after a week or so after discovering that it was pretty useless and wasn’t even enough to get somebody to offer me a seat on the tram.
As a result, it’s not clear to people I meet that righty is only operating at about 20% strength and in particular doesn’t like been turned clockwise. So when I meet people they tend to offer their right hand in salute and like a fool I tend to offer mine. It’s not doing a lot from my reputation that they first experience people have of me is a weak handshake and a grimace.
I’ve noticed that everyone offers the right hand when shaking; even people who are left handed in every other respect. It makes me realise that this might be the last injustice in the western world and I’ve played my part in perpetrating it. We’ve sorted out women’s equality and racism and yet the right hand is allowed to take a leading role in life while the left has to hide in the shadows, spending a lot of his life buried in a pocket while the right gets on with all the fun stuff.
For example, when I was a young fellow, trawling the discos of Dundalk in search of Northern Irish girls desperate to escape the troubles for a night and willing as a result to put up with my thick tongued mumbling, it was my right hand that partied. The dancing style of the day was minimalist. We’d sway gently to new romantic electro twaddle masquerading as music, with our left hand planted firmly in the front pocket of our skin tight cords, while our right arm moved from side to side with all the grace of a farmer herding cows towards the milking sheds. Righty got to lift all the beer we drank for Dutch courage and if I was lucky, got to hold the hand of some soft skinned daughter of Ulster as we queued for our coats.
Looking back I noticed right hand dominance in India. They have embraced a lot of things from the west like motor cars, mobile phones and the Internet. But they seem to have turned their back on knives and forks. The Chinese have an excuse for this, being able to do things with chopsticks that I would struggle to achieve with an entire kitchen of instruments. But the Indians still use their hands to eat, a practice that would be fine if their cuisine didn’t involve so much sauce and yogurt. When I dined with Indians I noticed that they only use their right hand when eating, which is impressive when cutting Nan bread for example. When I asked them why they didn’t let their left hand join in the fun, they looked at each other nervously before explaining that old leftie is used for another purpose which is not hygienically matched with eating.
It seems that toilet paper is the other western invention yet to be embraced in the sub continent.
For the next few weeks, I’ll be living in a left dominated world, while the right goes through an intensive training process. I’ve never broken a bone before so I don’t have much experience with the healing process. The fact that I feel no pain is a blessing but doesn’t help with getting the arm back in order. I often forget there is a problem for example and find myself in embarrassing situations, particularly ones that involve leverage like getting off a sofa or out of a bath.
I certainly won’t be taking righty for granted any more. Once he’s up and running again, I’m going to take him off the strenuous arm wrestling circuit and get him a nice massage every couple of weeks. It’s time I started spoiling my appendages. They are the only ones I’ve got.
Many people have asked me if my accident has made me re evaluate life. I’m not sure if it’s that profound. I certainly care more about my body now and I’ve lost that feeling of invulnerability which used to shadow me. We are brittle and when you bend us we break. Which reminds me of something else my Mother used to say: “Look after your body and your body will look after you”. I’d salute that, if only my arm was up to it.
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