My arms and hands are no more than a decoration on my body now. They make life more difficult for anyone trying to dress me or put a coat on me. When Mark moves me he has to remember to bring my arms along otherwise they dangle and could get in the way. If he rolls me on my side when we go to bed he has to remember to bring my arms in front of me because they won’t move on their own. It’s strange to think that we need to say, “Don’t forget about my arms and my hands.”
I can still feel hot and cold and someone’s touch. It seems strange to me that I never have an urge to move my arms. Even if I concentrate on moving my arms and fingers I still have no urge. It’s almost as if they were never part of my body at all.