Ring splints

I don’t know if the use of ring splints in EDS is widespread enough to be called universal, but it is pretty darn common. I’ve used both Silver Ring Splints (SRS) and Oval 8s, both of which have plusses and minuses. I first got SRS, oh, six or seven years ago, though I needed them earlier. Completely losing the ability to maintain a grip was a motivating factor in getting them. I got eight fingers splinted at the time (three fingers on each hand, plus thumbs), leaving out my pinkies in order to reduce my out of pocket expenses. Since then, I’ve managed to lose splints, break splints, and replace some splints. Pinkies are still waiting for the love.

Perhaps you’d like to see pictures? OK, here’s pictures!

This is a front view of my hands with silver ring splints, including thumb splints. I have the thumb splints tied on with elastic band because (1) I find having anything more substantial right at the base of my palm drives me nuts and (2) I tend to snag bracelets. I used to have a splint for my right middle finger, but it is broken.

Here you can plainly see that I don’t have my pinkies splinted. You also get to see my lovely saggy baggy skin. It’s always been that way, sort of flopped on top of bones and veins. My hands naturally curl up–tighter than this–and the splints help keep me from contracting them quite so much. 

Both hands, with fingers forced straight. Notice that the unsplinted fingers are taking creative paths. You can also see that my thumbs do their best, even splinted, to disappear into my palm. The splints on them guide them into the correct place, but don’t put a lot of pressure on them. In fact, over time, all of the splints become deformed from my fingers’ tendency to veer off. This is why Carapace prefers 3 Point Products Oval 8 splints. Also, you can buy Oval 8s directly, if you know your knuckle size, but SRS need to be sized by professionals. Because I have so much extra skin on my fingers, and the joints were quite swollen, the hand therapist had quite a challenge getting the right size, so if you are like me, don’t expect that you will get the right size the first time with SRS.

Finally, here is a palm-side view of my left hand. You can see that I have a mixture of extra-strength and regular-strength splints.  I would suggest to anyone to get the stronger ones because  of the tendency of the splints to deform after a while.

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Please take a moment to speak up for Minna. Her life depends on all of us.

Words Hit Like a Fist bmp

I took the liberty of turning Active Gray Matter‘s pdf of Dave Hinsburger’s Words Hit Like a Fist card into BMPs, for anyone who wants to embed them in their own blog. Sue at Active Gray Matter has also arranged to give away 10,000 of these cards to activists and advocates! So what are you waiting for? Go there now and ask for your cards!

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Only words

Sunday, I listened to the neighborhood children playing, reminiscing about when I was so young and playing was serious work. In particular, I heard two boys talking.

“I never knew that! I am stupid!” He spit out that last word with venom.

I was shocked. How often had that child been called stupid that he so quickly offered it as an explanation?

His friend’s voice was soothing. “You know it now.”

“I am stoooooooopid!”

Now the friend was astonished. “You are stupid?”

“Oh, I am soooo stupid!”

“I am stupid all the time,” the friend countered. “Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

“Stupo”

“Stupiddy”

For five minutes, they went on changing the word in singsong voices, two sweet little boys who were spending their time playing peacefully and teaching each other. But you know what neither of them did, not even once? Call the other one “stupid”. Instead, the slightly older boy went out of his way to make his friend feel better about his initial ignorance, and made himself his buddy’s equal in all ways. Together, they reclaimed the word “stupid,” taking away the sting until it was nothing, until the venom was gone and they could no longer even remember the judgment they were mocking.

It reminded me of another time, back when I was a teenager. At the local swimming pool, a little boy told me it was dangerous for him to go out of the shallow end since he was still learning to swim. I told him he was smart. His face broke out in an enormous grin and he rushed off. Five minutes later, he was tapping on my elbow with a burning question. “I’m smart?” “Yes, you are,” I reassured him. He took a breath in excitedly, like he had just been given a new bicycle, and again rushed off.

I thought then, as I thought now, what are the adults in these children’s lives teaching with their words? Why would a child be convinced he was stupid? Why would a child be surprised to be considered smart?