Tracing the path of scar tissue in my veins, faintly visible through the skin, with the pad of my index finger hurts like pressing on a bruise I can’t see.
Clumps of cartilage balled like rubber cement.
The meaty parts of both hands are swollen from pulling my thumbs away from my wrists so that the saddle joint at the base of my thumb separates and comes back together amid a mess of crepitus and floating gas bubbles in the synovial fluid, which is designed to lubricate and nourish.
“Crack.”
The swelling pools in the space between my pointer finger and wrist; the puffiness pushes against the inside of my skin.
I feel the ligaments, muscles and bones stretch.
“Pop.”
“Owwww,” I wail.
“Stop doing that!” my husband, Russell, says from the bed as I write at my desk.
“Stop having obsessive worrying thoughts that cause you to check and recheck… and then check again,” I tease him back.
Anxiety runs in many families, mental illness sprints through mine.
I hate myself for hurting myself, but I can’t stop, despite wrapping an elastic bandage around the affected area.
The internet says, “Osteoarthritis describes the injury to ligaments, cartilage and bone that occur when stress and strain are more than the joint can handle.”
Carpometacarpal arthritis of my own doing.
My radial artery throbs so hard Russell can see it from a distance.
Inflammation and pain.
I Google more.
Recovery is limited by repeated stress and strain and age, I learn.
There are 16 ligaments stabilizing the joint at the base of each of my thumbs. I am becoming unstable.
It’s psychosomatic.
“Look, I’m not hurting it yet,” I say to my husband. “Even though I can feel that it’s ready.”
The knuckle will pop again if I pull my thumb, reverberating and stirring up the inflammation.
Russell wraps his big hands around my wrist like an over-the-skin tendon sheath. His warm palms soothe the fire in my body.
Sometimes, I take ibuprofen. Google says to use a topical painkiller instead.
Russell holds my whole heart together with his energy, healing my psychosomatic wounds like a deep tissue masseuse rubbing out muscle knots.
Then, I pop the joint again, crying out, “OWWWW.”