I woke up this morning with someone else's hand attached to the end of my right arm.My real hand, the one that works properly and doesn't ache and allows me to sign my name without looking like a bad forgery, is obviously some place else enjoying itself, while I muddle through with this packet of ill-behaved sausages dangling from my wrist. It's really not on. The physio (a lovely lady who can crush bricks with her bare hands) is certain that my proper hand will be back but that it needs to feel sorry for me first, before it'll relent.  To help with that she is twisting and bending this imposter hand, bombarding it with all manner of electromagnetic radiation and poking it with sharp objects, although not quite as sharp as the cortizone-syringe-brandishing-surgeon is suggesting!Dear hand, if you're out there then please come back. I'm sorry I used you to pick up nasty squirmy insects when I was little, and that I accidentally burned you when I was mucking around at school. Yes I also know I let you get too close to a squirrel with an attitude so you got 'nibbled' and that I put you down on a wasp by mistake.... but I didn't mean it! Honest! So how about it? I'll treat you to a nice soak, maybe a nice spot of Crabtree & Evelyn hand scrub, and I promise I'll only jab my left hand from now on for the daily blood sugar tests. Oh go on....