BY the time you read this I will have undergone a carpal tunnel operation on my left hand. So I may have to rest up from blogging on a weekly basis, as I will only be able to type right-handed.

I will have to see how quickly I can adapt to one-handed typing. I did it successfully a few years back when I had my right-hand carpal tunnel operated upon. For those who do not know what the operation entails I will use the explanation given to me some years ago before my first operation of this type.

All our nerves and sinews go through a sheath near the back of your wrist. It is like a bridge over a river but as you grow older and, perhaps if you develop Repetitive Strain Injury through too much note-taking or typing, the river swells against the roof of the bridge. Then the bridge has to be increased in size by cutting across it.

This takes the pressure off the sinews and nerves.

You know if you need such an operation when the ends of your fingers go numb. I have little sense of touch or feeling in the thumb and three main fingers of the left hand. I find myself dropping things – keys and papers – believing I still have hold of them.

I knew from experience I needed the operation but you have to go through the process. I had delayed approaching the doctor in the first place because I wanted to finish the landscaping and main physical work in the garden.

Firstly the doctor made an appointment with a specialist who would determine what was causing my fingers to go numb. She also made an appointment with the surgeon who will undertake the operation.

I duly arrived at the hospital and was shown in and tested by a series of electrical impulses on my fingers, which registered the reaction on graphs. It is fortunate that most doctors we have come across in France seem to have a rudimentary knowledge of English and can explain the process and determine the nature of your problem.

They use voice recorders and dictate details of their findings into it. I caught the word “chronic”, which is similar in meaning in both languages. You wait outside while a secretary types out the report and then charges you for the consultation. You have a French medical card, which registers the treatment you have received on the chip and, after a couple of weeks, 70 per cent of the money is reimbursed to you by the Government and the other 30 per cent is credited to your bank account by the top-up insurance company.

The next day I went to see the surgeon who checked the results, and he asked me what day I wanted to come in for an arthroscopic (keyhole) operation, which would require only a local anaesthetic. He suggested I came in the next week but I had to choose a date some eight weeks ahead as Ellie, with her hip operation, would need support and help, which would be hard to undertake one-handed.

My wife is now walking well every day and has clawed back sundry household chores, so the operation is perhaps timely. I need to drive back to the UK for visiting and shopping and make a trip to Spain in October, so I needed the operation around now to enable me to recover in time..

There was one more visit I had to undergo and that was to see the anaesthetist who also checked my heart, blood pressure, and ran through my short list of medications. She insisted she needed the exact dosage so I had to phone home to gain the details from Ellie. They are very precise about such things over here.

It was explained to me that I could drive within the week as I had an automatic car but “you must not screw” she added, presumably referring to the pressure one would place on the heel of the hand if I was left-handed and using a screwdriver.

So early on Tuesday morning, I was taken to the hospital by a friend. I was released at 2.0pm and ferried home. The last operation on the right hand was in England, and the incision was longer whereas this time they undertook keyhole surgery and there is not, at this initial stage, the same degree of discomfort.

I had a shock because they inject you around the shoulder so your whole arm goes dead. I was moved into the recovery room after the operation and believed my left arm was above my chest. Eventually I sat up to have a look and found it dangling down beneath the trolley. I had no idea.

I also had no idea how heavy an inert arm can be. Back in the ward, a nurse put the arm in a sling and I climbed into a bed. After five minutes or so I turned over on my right side. My inert, numb left arm duly fell out of the sling and gave me as blow to the nose. It was like a punch.

And I was worried about not being able to type.