I don’t have to bend down to tie my shoes anymore, ha, ha.
But seriously, the only doctor who knew how to save my hand was tripping on windowpane at the time. I’m lucky he didn’t attach my hand to my butt.
The good news: I’m right-handed and my ankle hand is the left one. Although it’s attached to my right ankle. Weird.
I’ve always been troubled a bit with a stiff back. Now I don’t have to bend down to pet the cat or pick up the morning paper.
Buying socks is difficult, though.
Twice while wiping, I’ve kicked myself in the groin. Such is the life of the man with a hand on his foot.
In the hospital while recuperating, I met a woman whose foot was attached to her wrist in an emergency procedure (same doctor). I tried to joke with her about our situations and she kicked me in the nose. Unexpected.
Speaking of feet, I’ve always been a “foot” man. In bed with my wife, I fondle her feet. Unfortunately, she says that when I’m lying there on my back with my head on my pillow, the feel of my lower hand edging over to her feet is “just plain creepy.”
It’s a lot harder to twiddle my fingers.