About Me

My photo
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!

Sunday, January 14, 2007

Update on the knee

The MRI was a far more pleasant experience than I had been warned it might be. When they repeatedly ask you if you're claustrophobic and all you can say is, "I don't know, let's find out." ... Doesn't bode well. But they only rolled me in about hip-deep, and they gave me headphones and the local country station, and other than the fact that my toes immediately wanted to go dancing and take both knees with them, it was not bad.

Oh, and there was no place to put my arms except on top of my stomach, which meant that my fingers kept going to sleep because the blood was draining down into my elbows. But I did learn a new skill: raising the arm that did not have custody of the panic button and waving it gently back and forth in the air without moving anything south of my navel, then switching hands.

I think the only 45-minute span of my life that has been longer, was when I was pushing Firstborn out and had no idea how to get that particular piano out of the transom [and may God bless Fanny Brice for the metaphor]. But the staff at the facility couldn't have been more pleasant or reassuring. Do I ever want to do this again? No. But if it's necessary, I want to go to them.

That was Wednesday the 3rd. On Tuesday the 9th I found a message from my doctor's office on my cell phone as I was sitting at a light, waiting to merge onto the freeway and go bond with my Sisters of the Wool. "Please call back about the results of your MRI." Not good. If it's good, they leave you a chirpy message that says, essentially, "You're normal, thanks for playing." Work on Wednesday was crazier than usual, so no chance to call them for an explanation. When I did on Thursday, after much phone tag, this is what they said:

It's inconclusive. Could be a stress fracture. Could be a tear. What you want to do from here is up to you. If it's not causing you much trouble or discomfort, then we'll just see you for your well-woman later this month. If it is, then you may want to make an appointment with an orthopedic doctor.

OK, for two months I've been experiencing "discomfort" that on my personal PainOMeter is considerably greater than childbirth and slightly to significantly less than when my gallbladder blew, five years ago. More to the point, I can't dance, which is my primary form of exercise, entertainment, and stress release. Live with it? I don't think so.

And naturally the clinic whose number they gave me, is not on my network, which fact I didn't find out until midway through the appointment-making process. But I have found one who is, and a handful of backups in case I don't care for him. Maybe he can figure out if I have a stress fracture [which I think is the less likely prospect, given what my bone scan looked like last year] or a torn something-or-other in, on, around or under my kneecap.

Two of the people in my office have experience with him; he non-surgically treated one of my attorneys, and he operated on the ex-husband of one of my secretaries. Attorney says “he’s kinda goofy”; takes one to know one, so that bodes well. And the secretary says that he’s very warm and gracious. A warm and gracious surgeon? This I have to see for myself!

***

Who knew? I've been walking around on a broken leg for two months!

The problem with my knee is actually a stress fracture of my tibia and thankfully not something that will require surgery. Once the bone has healed, there may be some physical therapy to restore core strength, but for now I’m to use a cane – which I purchased on the way to work after my appointment yesterday and am trying to figure out – or crutches, which LittleBit just happens to have in her closet, and she's my height.

She adjusted them for me last night and I practiced with them, and I don't like them. I will probably just stick with the cane, as it leaves one hand free to lug my tote, my knitting, and my lunch basket.

I’m supposed to ice my knee three times a day because it is inflamed, and to find a water aerobics class, which at this time of year probably means an expensive suit from Land’s End, not a cheapie from Wally World. I think I threw away my incredibly ancient swimsuits during the last spasm of domesticity.

I did a pretty fair impression of Joe Boyle as "The Monster" from Young Frankenstein in the lunchroom at work yesterday: "Ruh ruh ruh ruh RITZZZZZZZ!"

I have a re-check with the orthopedic man in six weeks. I’m not sure if or how my workload will need to be modified until then.

Knitting content? Sure, no problem. Completed the heel flap on the second Boring Sock for LittleBit while we watched a video last night. Will turn the heel today and start chewing away on the gussets.

Next week is mammo and well-woman and my second bone density scan because Ortho Man can't figure out why my tibia is so unhappy with me.

Oh, and the PT man is easy on the eyes. That's your obligatory testosterone content for the week and about as good as it's likely to get around here until further notice.

No, I didn't just fall in somewhere

It's been hairier than usual in SingleMomLand, witness last week:
Monday: four weeks' worth of laundry and a pint of ice cream apiece
Tuesday: Knit Night
Wednesday: workshop at church
Thursday: shopping with LittleBit for fabric for her drama class Renaissance costume
Friday: dinner with my JustFriend and bagpipe concert at smoky dive
Saturday: the last of the fabric for LittleBit's costume, the rental of three videos and the borrowing of another from Fourthborn, and an afternoon spent swooning over a double feature of Jack Sparrow's adventures, accompanied by one box each of the soft chocolate caramels made by the Junior Mints people, and a small bag of popcorn each, and half a box of Girl Scout Cookies in true Gilmore fashion.

I finished the World's Most Boring Sock before going to bed, all but the tying-off of the toes, and she tried it on after church today. Fits like it was made for her. Oh yeah. It was! I would take a picture, but the camera is in FW at Secondborn's, which is 18 miles away; church was cancelled this morning because of the weather. They informed us of this fact partway into the morning announcements. We finished up announcements, everybody said "amen!" and gathered up the handouts and came home.

So what have I done with my unexpected day of leisure? Cooked up a package of ramen noodles as "dessert" for the English muffin I ate in the car while driving to church, checked my email, and taken a five hour nap. You heard me right. Back to bed about 11:00 am, and vertical but questionably coherent at 4:00 pm.

Peering into my crystal ball, I foresee not much sleep during the hours that I am normally horizontal and attempting to be unconscious. Perhaps I will make good progress on the second sock.

But first it's time to refuel. Good thing I made that 11:00 pm dash to the grocery store last night for more milk and cookies...

Wednesday, January 03, 2007

An Insight into Guy-think

I found myself in a situation where I needed to apologize to a fellow I know through the singles who sometimes returns my calls, and sometimes doesn't. [One reason why Other Guy and I will probably never have the quality of JustFriendShip that Brother Sushi and I do.] I left a VM on Other Guy's cell phone during the drive to work one morning saying "I'd like to apologize, if you have the time and the inclination to receive it. We'll talk later." And I called Brother Sushi on the drive home to say that I'd done so, and that I wasn't sure the guy would call back, and maybe I should just drop him a note.

Pregnant pause on the other end of the line. The sort where I slow down and pay attention, because I know that Brother Sushi is going to rummage around in the closet of his accumulated wisdom and hand me a new tool for my toolkit. I never know if it's going to be a monkey wrench, a scalpel, or a sledgehammer. Sometimes it's a laser level that whistles "Yankee Doodle Dandy". I may not need to use it often, or more than *once*, but it's always the right tool for the job at hand.

Amazing.

So when he said, "I wouldn't," I almost stomped on the brakes, which would have been a mistake because the light had just turned green. And I would have found myself picking a Hummer out of my trunk. Which would have made me late for Knit Night.

"Oh really? Why not?"

"The offer to apologize *is* the apology. You did it. You're done. Move on."

And then I explained to him that if I apologize to another woman. it's a whole lot more complicated for that. First I have to say that I want to apologize. Then I have to describe the behavior and why I'm sorry that I did or said it, and then I have to actually say that I'm sorry, and then we both hug and sniffle a little, and then we eat some chocolate and all is forgiven. Unless of course the other woman gave up forgiving others several Lents ago.

The offer to apologize *is* the apology.

Explains a lot, doesn't it?

OK, back to your regularly scheduled knitting content. LittleBit picked out easily the most boring pair of socks in Knitting Vintage Socks. I am knitting them in purple Essential Tweed and am about halfway to the heel flap. This is my first pair using, more or less, Magic Loop. I tried two needles but only had 32"s instead of 24"s, and it was way too similar to when I took GLM [graduated length method] ski lessons back in 1973. There was just too much dangling going on; I could have been teaching participles to eighth-graders. Enough metaphors. I am not enjoying this sock at all, and I can't wait to finish it and its twin and get back to working on my nice Crystal Palace DP's and lace or cables or *something*.

I'm heading out the door to (A) have the oil changed on Lorelai, (B) have the locksmith fix the lock on my trunk so I can stuff Earl back in there, and (C) find out how much it would cost to have them pull my CD player and extract the CD that I know is in there but the player says is not, because I got impatient and forced it into someplace other than the intended track.

I foresee lots of reluctant, cranky knitting in the next couple of hours. Then a trip to the place I call Planner Heaven for more of those cute truncated extra diary pages and maybe some stickers and other papery toys. I not only turn over a new leaf this time of year, I embellish it and calligraphy it.

And maybe a massage this afternoon. We'll see. It's officially Be Good To Myself Day, having survived my first MRI [of the line dancing injury to my knee]. I hear my last piece of Russell Stover's calling my name...

Monday, January 01, 2007

A Vente Cup of Latent Hostility, to Go, Please

It's the first day in a shiny new year. It would also have been my parents' 71st wedding anniversary. And I am celebrating -- how?

The mate to the Prodigal Sock is done, all but the weaving-in of the ends. I will probably wear them to the movie this afternoon, which I'll be attending with friends from the singles program. To be followed by dinner and maybe a food fight, depending upon my general attitude and how cathartic the movie turns out to be.

My son-in-law fixed my brakes.

I rented "John Tucker Must Die" and watched it with LittleBit. I am thinking of all the good women out there who get played by guys who haven't outgrown that mindset, and I'm wondering if enough of us got together, if we could humiliate them en masse. Probably not; probably just better to forgive and forget. I don't think the national debt would cover sufficient ink to tattoo "player" on all those foreheads.

[LittleBit hoots "Dude, that would be AWESOME! I have a couple of names you could put on that list."] Yeah, me too.

But first, there is a hank of "Anna" that is begging to be wound up and turned into a variation on the Socks of Doom. Yes, I am taking my knitting to the movie. And I am poking *anyone* who talks during it.

She who knits, regains her wits...