About Me

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Four years into widowhood, after one year of incredible happiness and nearly 14 years of single blessedness. Have given up perfect manicures and pretty hands in order to resume playing the soprano recorder and to see if I can figure out how to play bluegrass banjo. Singing in the shower. Still really, *really* love to knit!

Wednesday, April 25, 2007

Insert Childbirth Word [here].

You know how the knee/tibia has been mending slowly and gracefully, aided by ice, water therapy, mild exercise, and time? Not to mention a relative lack of foolhardy behaviors?

Enter the Quarterly Fire Drill. This morning. They warn us a couple of days in advance, and I had a little "wonder if I should?" niggle on Monday, easily dismissed as nothing.

The alarm went off this morning. A coworker who is exempt because of various orthopedic glitches sat at my desk, and I headed for the stairs. Another coworker, coincidentally on our Safety Committee, steered me away from my usual choice of stairwell, "No, Lynn, we're supposed to use this one, over here." So like a good little worker bee I followed her down the other stairwell, even though it exits on the west side of the building, and our rendezvous spot is on the east side of the building and across the street.

I kept up with her for about half a flight of stairs. With six and a half flights to go. Three or so flights down, she was nowhere in sight, and my knee was starting to take my brain's name in vain. By the time I made it to the sidewalk, I knew I was in trouble. I limped down the block, getting madder and madder, more and more frustrated. About 30 seconds after I joined my group [halfway to Louisiana, or so it felt], the all-clear sounded , and it was time to hobble back across the street and up half a flight of stairs to get in line for the elevator with the rest of the lemmings.

Thankfully, my cane was right where I'd parked it several weeks ago, in a convenient corner behind my desk. I used it for the rest of the day. And my coldpack was still in the freezer in our break room. So I grabbed it during my morning break and iced down my knee off and on until lunchtime. And I converted my remaining vacation day into PT and came home an hour and a half early, because I was Not In The Mood to sit for an hour and a half in traffic with a throbbing knee.

I may or may not call in sick tomorrow. Depends on how this poor abused knee feels when I wake up in the morning. Most of the afternoon I just wanted to be home, curled up in bed, having a good cry. Now that I'm home, I'm enjoying a bowl of orange chicken and thinking about watching the video I rented on Saturday night, one more time before I have to turn it in tomorrow.

Needless to say, I am now on the "exempt" list for the fire drills, until future notice. But I was actually looking forward to the next singles' dance Friday after next, and that's definitely out. My best guess is that I've set myself back about six weeks. I'm hoping not to have to visit either my primary care physicial or my orthopedic man, but I think that's probably hoping in vain. It's a slightly different pain than I've been feeling since the first injury in November. This is like a slow burn, as if my knee were a stick of incense that was lit and blown out and is now quietly glowing. I have a sneaking feeling that my meniscus decided to get into the act.

And I think that the road trip I was beginning to plan for this summer, just got shoved back a year.

It is at moments like this that I wish I had a husband who could give me a blessing, or even just sit with me and cradle this poor abused knee between his hands. But there are a couple of silverish linings, already: I am full of Chinese fiery goodness, and I have time to knit, and when one of my girlfriends emailed me and asked if she could help me lug things down to the car, I didn't dismiss her offer as I usually would. I just smiled thankfully and replied, "Yes, please, that would be lovely. Bless you."

Knitting content:
I have just completed the first 28-row cable repeat on the back of LittleBit's hoodie. In two days. The last row and a half in traffic [stalled, I'm not entirely lunatic] and at stoplights, on the way home. It's going much faster than the sleeves or the fronts, because there is only *one* cable marching up the back, and lots of lovely stockinette on either side. Forgive me that there are no pictures. The camera is in my tote, and my tote is across the room.

And now if you will all excuse me, I'm going to settle in with my knitting and the remote, and knit until I fall asleep in the rocker with the coldpack on my knee. Or the movie ends, whichever comes first.

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