“I Can’t Move It,” the Real Reason Morgan Freeman Wore Only One Glove at the Oscars

When Morgan Freeman escorted Margot Robbie on stage at the 2023 Oscars, his left arm caught the attention of many. In fact, the 85-year-old actor wore an elbow-length satin black glove, which raised many concerns. And the reason behind it goes back to a heartbreaking event that transformed Freeman’s life 15 years ago.

Back in 2008, the Shawshank Redemption star was injured in a serious car accident that left him with a paralyzed left hand.

After the crash, Freeman had to undergo a 4-hour surgery in order to deal with his broken left shoulder, arm, and elbow.

A couple of years after the unfortunate event, the acclaimed actor opened up about his struggle, saying ’’I suffered nerve damage, and it hasn’t gotten better, I can’t move it.’’

He added, ’’If you don’t move your hand, it will swell up. Do you know you move your hand about a million times a day?’’

And even though doctors had reassured him that his hand would get better by 2011, this unfortunately didn’t happen to be the case.

Freeman ended up with permanent nerve damage and is still unable to wiggle his fingers.

And it seems that even 15 years later, the Oscar-winning actor is still dealing with the consequences of his accident, as we saw him wearing a glove during the ceremony.

According to experts, the compression glove works by lightly squeezing the veins in one’s hand to support blood circulation and can even help to manage tingling, pain, and swelling.

My Downstairs Neighbor Called the Police on Me for ‘Stomping Around’ — How My Daughter Reacted Made Me Tear Up

Ever wondered how age changes the way people treat you? 73-year-old Margaret was heartbroken when her neighbor accused her of disturbing his peace with her walking stick and called the cops on her. Her daughter’s fierce response brought tears to Margaret’s eyes.

I’m Margaret, and at 73, I still take pride in taking care of myself. My cane helps me get around, but it doesn’t stop me from living a full life. My apartment, filled with memories of my late husband George, is my haven.

Recently, my downstairs neighbor Arnold, not a day over 37, seems to have a vendetta against my cane. He accused me of “stomping around” and threatened to call the cops.

When the police arrived, I explained the situation. They understood and reassured me I had the right to live peacefully.

I called my daughter Jessie, who joined our building’s chat group to expose Arnold’s behavior. The response was immediate: neighbors supported me, calling out Arnold’s rudeness.

Arnold eventually apologized, bringing flowers and later, banana bread. He even asked if we could get to know each other better over coffee. Surprised but hopeful, I agreed.

In the end, the kindness of my neighbors and the support of my daughter reminded me that even in a big city, there’s a sense of belonging. Arnold’s change of heart also gave me hope for a peaceful future in my cherished home.

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