Getting on for 14 years ago, in the big Northeastern blackout, I broke the little finger of my right hand. (After a late afternoon and early evening of navigating the City, first up to West 48th Street from lower Manhattan--I needed to pick up two people stranded up there--and then back down when it became clear I could not get more gas (pumps were down), and couldn't try to get out of the City, after finally parking as night fell, I tripped over a tree pit. Awesome!) Anyway, since then, the finger has been curled and stiff, painful and useless. It has also, I suspect, contributed to the pain in that hand that has intensified in the past two years.
The last few weeks have been especially bad for that hand, and it had finally reached the point where even I accepted I needed medical care. The little finger had a sick-making feeling of being unattached somewhere, and I was distinctly nervous. As I sat up in the apse today, I became aware of something: my whole hand was flat on the arm of my seat.
Including the little finger.
Astonished, I flexed the hand. Lots of crunchy noises, what I suspect is a nasty case of crepitus. But also my little finger was moving of my volition, responsive again to my impulses, and nearly straight again. After many long years, I am finally healing from an injury from which I long despaired of seeing any improvement.
I still need to see a doctor, of course--the rest of the aches and crepitus is still there, and even the little finger is hurting at the end of the day. But it flexes, grips (weakly, but still), and is back. Even my despair and neglect over that injury couldn't prevent healing, however long it takes.
Even old hurts, long accepted and adjusted to, need not be with us for life.