The Real Reason Your Hands Are Stiff and Your Grip Is Going (Hint: It’s Not Just Wear and Tear) and the Vinegar Test on a Workbench That Got One Retired Mechanic, 66, Holding a Wrench Again
A retired plumber, 78, asked me one question at the hardware store. Then he showed me a test with a rag, white vinegar and a pinch of salt. It took five seconds. It told me why four years of pills and shots never touched my hands, and what my hands had been short on the whole time.
I couldn’t get the lid off the coffee can.
Five thirty in the morning. A plastic lid on a can of Folgers, the kind you peel up with one finger. I stood there with both hands around that can like it was a jar of nails. I got it off with a butter knife.
I was a diesel mechanic for 38 years. I pulled injectors out of Cummins engines with my bare hands in January. Now a coffee can beats me.
If your hands are stiff when you wake up, if your grip is going, if your fingers are cold on the wheel, you already know the rest.
My doctor gave it a name four years ago. He bent each finger, looked at an X ray, and said wear and tear. “You used your hands for a living, Ray. This is the bill.”
Then he wrote me a script and moved on.
The bill was bigger than he made it sound.
I stopped changing my own oil. I bought that truck new in 2011 and never once paid a shop to touch it.
I stopped fishing. You can’t tie a hook if you can’t pinch a line. I told the guys it was my back.
I started opening the truck door with two hands. Pull the handle with one, hook the frame with the other. Nobody sees it. I see it every time.
And the one I don’t like saying. My grandson is two. He goes about 30 pounds. Last Easter I went to lift him out of his car seat and my hands would not close on him. My daughter did it. Nobody said a word. That was worse than if they had.
I shake with my left hand now, if I can get away with it, and most men my age know better than to ask.
Then a 78 year old plumber at the hardware store told me what four years of doctors never did. He showed me with a rag and a jug of vinegar, right on a workbench. The same test is further down this page, and you can do it tonight on anything you own.
Four Years of Fixes That Never Had a Chance
Before the plumber, I did what you did.
The pills. Ibuprofen with breakfast. Then with lunch too. About a year in, my stomach started burning, so the doctor added a second pill to protect my stomach from the first one. Two pills to pay for one. The ache went down for a few hours. My grip never came back, not for one day.
Glucosamine and fish oil. Three years. Two big bottles on the counter, about $11 a month between them. I can’t point to one morning they changed. The label said they feed the joint. My problem was never the joint, and nobody told me that either.
The cortisone shot. Twice. Two good weeks, then worse than before the needle. The doctor said three a year, tops. So that’s six good weeks a year at $45 a shot. I did that math in his parking lot.
Heat and the squeeze thing. A heating pad at night. A rubber grip strengthener from the drugstore, the kind you squeeze while you watch the game. I squeezed it for a year. Warm hands for twenty minutes, then cold again. You can’t build strength into a hand that’s missing something. You just wear it out faster.
I only see it now. Every one of those things went after the ache, or the joint, or the muscle. Not one of them asked what my hands were short on.
That’s how this business works. They sell you something for the ache. Then something for what the first thing does to your stomach. Then a refill every month until you stop coming in. Nobody in that chain makes a dime if your hands get fixed. I didn’t hear that from a doctor. I heard it from a plumber, and he had the hands to back it up.
You Ever Meet a Plumber With Bad Hands?
I met Vern at the hardware store on Mahoning Avenue in late May. I was buying a jar opener, the kind with the rubber strap. If you’ve ever carried one of those to the register, you know what it costs a man.
Vern is 78. He ran copper pipe for 41 years. Sweated joints in crawl spaces in December. He watched me fumble my wallet and said, “Wear and tear, right? What’d he give you, Advil and a shot?”
I said yes.
“Because I’ve heard it fifty times. Look at these.” He held his hands out. Big, flat plumber’s hands. He opened and closed them like a man half his age. “You ever meet a plumber with bad hands? Forty one years of copper. I can still thread a fitting blind.”
Then he asked me.
“You ever try copper?”
I had. A “copper” bracelet off the rack at a truck stop on the Ohio Turnpike. Twelve dollars. I wore it two months in 2023, felt nothing, and threw it in the toolbox. I told him so.
He didn’t laugh. He said, “Bring it by the shop Saturday. I’ll show you what you bought.”
The first thing Vern told me was the part against him.
He said back in the 1800s men sold copper as a cure for about everything. Fevers, gout, you name it. That was junk, and it gave copper a bad name it never got over. Then he told me about two studies in England, one in 2009 and one in 2013. They put copper bracelets on people with arthritis and measured the pain. The bracelets did no better than a fake one.
I looked both of them up that night. They’re real. I’m not going to tell you they aren’t.
“Of course they didn’t work,” Vern said. “They tested copper like it was a pain pill. It isn’t one. It never was. It’s what your body builds with.”
Nobody had ever told me copper was a material my body uses. Four years of doctors, and I heard it from a plumber in a hardware store, so I asked him to show me.
What Copper Does in a Man’s Hands
Vern drew it for me on a piece of cardboard on his bench. I’ll give it to you the way he gave it to me.
“Everything that holds your hand together is built out of collagen. The cords that bend your fingers. The pads in your knuckles. The walls of the little vessels that keep your fingers warm. Your body lays new collagen every day, like bar stock coming off a truck.”
“But bar stock isn’t a frame. Somebody has to weld it. The welder in your body is an enzyme called lysyl oxidase. That welder can’t strike an arc without copper. No copper, no weld. You get a frame that flexes and creaks at every joint. That’s a stiff hand, Ray. It isn’t worn out. It’s short on welds.”
“Second job. Copper is what moves iron. You’ve got iron in the tank. Without copper it never gets to the engine. Blood that doesn’t carry iron doesn’t carry heat. Your hands go cold first because they’re at the end of the line.”
Why a Man Doesn’t Get Any Anymore
Then he said the part that made me mad.
“When you and I were boys, water came through copper pipe. Your mother cooked in a copper bottom pot. A penny was copper. Now the pipe is plastic, the pot is nonstick, and a penny has been zinc with a coat on it since 1982. You don’t touch copper anymore. Nobody does.”
“And going in through your stomach is a bad road. Zinc blocks copper at the door. So does that stomach pill your doctor gave you for the Advil. You’ve been blocking the one thing your hands need, and paying twice a month to do it.”
I sat on an upturned bucket and thought about four years of pills. Every one of them aimed at the ache. Not one of them put a single thing back.
“So how does it get in?” I asked him.
“Same way it got into me. Through the skin. It’s been measured.” He said two researchers named Walker and Keats put it in a journal called Agents and Actions in 1976. About 300 people wore copper bracelets. They weighed the bracelets before and after. The bracelets came back lighter. About 13 milligrams a month, gone into the skin of whoever wore it. I looked that one up too.
The Test on the Bench
Saturday I took the truck stop bracelet to Vern’s garage.
He had a jug of white vinegar on the shelf, the kind you run through a coffee maker. He poured some in a jar lid, threw in a pinch of salt, and dipped a rag in it.
First he wiped a scrap of old copper pipe. It was brown as a boot. Where the rag went, it turned bright as a new penny. Five seconds. Maybe less.
“Vinegar and salt eat copper tarnish,” he said. “If there’s real copper under the rag, it comes up bright. If it’s a coat over pot metal, nothing happens, because there’s nothing there to eat.”
Then he wiped my twelve dollar bracelet.
Nothing. Not a shade lighter. The rag came away clean.
“That’s a clear coat over some cheap metal,” he said. “You didn’t wear copper for two months. You wore paint.”
I asked how a man is supposed to know.
“He isn’t. That’s the point. It looks the same on the rack and it looks the same on your wrist. Costs them about a dollar to make. The only way you find out is a rag and a jug of vinegar.”
Then he held out his own wrist and did it to the band he wears. Bright pink where the rag went. He wiped it dry and said the warm matte color settles back on its own in a few days.
That’s the whole test. A rag, a jug of vinegar you already own, and five seconds. I’ve done it on everything copper colored in my house since, and most of it was paint.
Where Vern’s Came From
Vern’s band is from Maggie’s Copper. Family shop in New York, open since 1964. Maggie runs it now, behind the same counter her parents opened. Vern’s daughter found them three years ago, after Vern’s own first bracelet went the way of mine.
The piece Vern wears is called the Ore. It’s a men’s cuff. Wide and flat, built like a watch band, with links all the way around. Solid copper the whole way through. No coat, no core, nothing under the color. A matte, warm copper finish. It looks like a piece of a good tool.
You squeeze it to fit. My wrist is 8 inches and it sat like it was made for it. It goes under a work glove. It goes in the shower. You put it on and you leave it on, because every hour it’s on your skin is an hour it’s giving.
It’s $39.95. Regular price is $79.90. Free shipping in the US, one to three days. You get 30 days to send it back if it does nothing for you, no questions asked. And if it ever tarnishes on you, they give you double your money back. Try to get that promise on a twelve dollar bracelet.
I ordered one from Vern’s kitchen table that Saturday.
Ore Men’s Copper Bracelet
$39.95 (regular $79.90) · Free US shipping, 1 to 3 days
- Solid copper all the way through, no coat, no core
- Wide watch band style, adjustable, squeeze to fit
- Wear it under a glove, in the shower, in bed
- Free shipping in the US, 1 to 3 days
- 30 days to send it back, no questions asked
Double your money back if it ever tarnishes. No time limit.
Check Availability →Solid copper from a New York family jeweler since 1964. This one runs short on stock, so check before you count on it.
Three Weeks, Day by Day
It came in two days. I kept notes on a pad on the fridge. I’ve kept a log on every engine I ever owned, and I wasn’t going to treat my hands worse than a truck.
Day 1. Heavier than I figured. Matte, not shiny. I took it to the bench first thing, wet a rag with vinegar and salt, and wiped a spot on the inside of the band the size of a dime. Bright as a new penny in five seconds. Copper. I squeezed it to fit and put it on.
Day 3. Nothing. I’ll say it plain. Coffee can took the butter knife again, same as always.
Day 6. Faint green line on the inside of my wrist in the shower. I almost scrubbed it off. Then I remembered the scale study and left it alone.
Day 8. Got the lid off the coffee can with one thumb. Stood there in the dark looking at the can. Didn’t tell anyone.
Day 10. Hands weren’t cold on the wheel at six in the morning. I hadn’t turned the heat up. I noticed that before I noticed the hands.
Day 12. Opened the truck door with one hand. Didn’t catch it until I was in the seat.
Day 15. Shook a man’s hand at the VFW with my right. Firm. He didn’t notice. I did.
Day 19. Tied a hook. Took me two tries. First line I’ve had in the water in two years. Caught nothing and didn’t care.
Day 21. Changed the oil in the truck. Got the filter off by hand. Sat in the driveway after with black hands and a beer and didn’t want to go inside.
That was June. It’s September now and it hasn’t come off. My hands aren’t 30 again. When it rains, my knuckles still let me know. But the coffee can opens, the truck door opens, and last Sunday I lifted my grandson out of his car seat myself. My daughter watched me do it and didn’t say a word, and this time that was fine by me.
I’m Not the Only One
I told this story at the VFW and got four more like it before I finished my beer. These men said I could use their names.
Hal R., 68, Muskegon, Michigan:
“Retired lineman, 31 years on the poles. My hands quit before I did. I couldn’t work a reel, so the boat sat two summers. Wore the Ore since April. In July I ran the reel all day on Lake Michigan and my son didn’t have to bait one hook for me.”
Frank D., 71, Dubuque, Iowa:
“Farmed 40 years. I’d started asking my son in law to open the gate latches. Tried the Advil, the shot, the glove. Did the vinegar test on my old bracelet from the feed store. Nothing. Got the Ore in May. I open my own gates now and I open my own beer.”
Leon T., 64, Wheeling, West Virginia:
“Carpenter. My hands were my whole trade and I couldn’t hold a hammer past ten swings. I figured it’s a bracelet, what’s the harm. About three weeks in I hung a door by myself. I’m not building houses again. But I hung the door.”
Walt B., 77, Sioux Falls, South Dakota:
“I’m 77. I’d stopped shaking hands at church. Nobody knew why but me. My daughter got me this in July. Two months in, I shake with my right and I don’t think about it. To a man my age that’s worth more than the forty dollars.”
The Questions I Asked Before I Ordered
“Is it going to turn my wrist green?”
A little, on the inside, if you sweat. That’s copper going into the skin, the same thing that 1976 study weighed. It washes off with soap. The truck stop bracelet never left a mark in two months, because there was nothing in it to leave one. If yours never turns a little green, that tells you something too.
“What size do I get?”
There’s one size. You squeeze it to fit. My wrist is 8 inches and it fit right. Vern’s is smaller than mine and it fits him too. It stays put under a glove and it doesn’t slide down over your hand.
“Can I wear it in the shower? At work?”
I wear it in the shower, in the garage, under a work glove, and in bed. That’s the point. It gives a little every hour it touches your skin, so you leave it on. Copper doesn’t rust.
“How long before I notice anything?”
I got nothing for a week. The coffee can opened on day 8. The truck door on day 12. Give it three weeks before you decide. You have 30 days, so three weeks fits inside it.
“What if it does nothing for me?”
You send it back inside 30 days and they refund you. No questions. And if the band ever tarnishes, they pay you double what you paid, with no time limit. I did the vinegar test on the inside of mine the day it came, so I know what it’s made of. That’s more than I can say for anything else I bought in four years.
The Way I See It Now
One night I added up four years on the back of an envelope.
Ibuprofen and the stomach pill, $260. Glucosamine and fish oil, $400. Two cortisone shots, $90 in copays. Heating pad, gloves and the grip squeezer, $58. Doctor visits, $180. The truck stop bracelet, $12. It comes to a thousand dollars, even. I checked it twice. Every dollar of it aimed at the ache, and not one dollar of it put anything back.
The Ore was $39.95. Four percent of that. Less than one cortisone copay.
You’ve got two roads. Keep doing what you’re doing. Advil, a pill for the Advil, a shot when it gets bad, a jar opener from the hardware store. I did that for four years and it only went one way.
Or put back the one thing your hands have been short on, through the skin, the way it got into a plumber for 41 years, and see what your own three weeks look like. If it does nothing, it goes back inside 30 days and you’re out nothing.
The Ore Men’s Copper Bracelet. Solid copper all the way through. $39.95, regular $79.90. Free US shipping, 1 to 3 days. 30 days to send it back. Double your money back if it ever tarnishes.
— Ray Dombrowski, Youngstown, Ohio
P.S. Do the vinegar test tonight on whatever “copper” you already own. A rag, white vinegar, a pinch of salt. If nothing happens, you’ve got your answer, and it’s the same answer I got.
P.P.S. Vern still stops by my garage on Saturdays. He’s 78. He still opens the jar of pickles at lunch, and he still makes a point of doing it in front of me.
Did the vinegar test on the bracelet I got at the state fair. Rag came away clean. Wore that thing four years thinking I’d tried copper.
Dennis, we hear that every week. A clear coat over base metal costs about a dollar to make and looks fine on the rack. Everything we sell is solid copper the whole way through, so vinegar and salt brightens it every time.
71, retired tool and die. Bought one in July. I can hold a micrometer steady again. I don’t care what a study in England says, I know what my hands do.
My husband is 69 and has never ordered a thing off the internet in his life. I ordered it. He said nothing for two weeks. Then he changed a tire in the driveway. He still says nothing, but the band hasn’t come off.
$40 for a bracelet seems like a lot.
Mike, I paid $45 a shot for cortisone, twice a year for two years. This was less than one shot and it’s still on.
Placebo. Your brain wants it to work so it does.
Gary, maybe. My brain wanted the Advil to work for four years too and it never opened a jar. It’s 30 days to send it back. Try one and let your brain decide.
What size? My wrists are big, 8 and a half around.
Pete, mine’s 8 and a half too. You squeeze it to fit. Plenty of room.
My bracelet is from Maggie’s Copper too, the twisted one. My husband kept borrowing it for the garage so I ordered him the men’s one. Peace in the house.
Showed the green mark to my doctor. He shrugged and said can’t hurt. Twelve years that man has been handing me Advil.
Retired over the road trucker. Couldn’t grip the wheel past two hours. Six weeks in and I drove to Florida to see my daughter. First time in three years.
Fine. Ordered it. If it does nothing I’ll be back here to say so.
