“A little bit every day”
A few days ago, I pulled my car into the driveway after work. One of the neighbors, whom I hadn’t met, was sweeping the blacktop outside his garage.
He asked how our move-in is going.
“There’s so much to do,” I said.
“The important thing is to do a little bit every day,” he replied. “You can’t do it all at once.”
Kacey and I are finding out the wisdom behind those words. We’ve made a lot of progress in two weeks, especially considering that my finger injuries have severely limited what I’m able to do.
One of the hard lessons of this experience is that a lot goes wrong, or at least not according to plan: The hot water didn’t work on day one. The TV in the living room was mounted slightly crooked (measurements for the bracket were made off the mantel, which — as was later discovered — is not level); the mounting process ended up taking several days and caused two HDMI cables to be snapped.
In her heroic style, Kacey tried to put up the ceiling fan by herself and dropped a screw into the housing. The security system remains somewhat of a mystery.
There are other misadventures that elude me at the moment.
As for my fingers, after almost four months, the old nail bed and associated tissue on my right index finger finally broke off. Or rather, I twisted and tore it off after it was cauterized. That lump of tissue was a constant problem because it has to be wrapped constantly and it basically prevented me from using my index finger for anything. Imagine having a marble attached to your finger and anytime the marble was touched, it hurt. That’s what it was like.
The tissue would still be there if not for the silver nitrate that Dean, my physical therapist, applied earlier this week using what looked giant matchsticks, taken from a white cylindrical container with “POISON” stamped on it in block letters. My fingertip now looks like a marshmallow that was held over a fire a bit too long, as you can see here. But getting rid of that problem was a mini milestone.