Walk of Shame

Housewives Tarot

No, not that kind of walk of shame - not only am I married, I'm too old for that now: I would take pride in it rather than shame.

I was at the dentist today, having slinked out of an appointment on Friday 13th (are they KIDDING me ?!) You'll recall my morbid irrational fear. Today I was there for a filling, which involved a needle for anaesthetic being put into my pre-numbed back of my mouth. I cried. Silently, of course, since after all, I am an adult. 

During my stay, tears continued to leak out in spite of my best efforts, the dentist's words of advice on how to calm down, and the death-grip I had on the dental assistant's hand - a very talented person who could handle all kinds of tasks with her remaining hand, as we found out.

I have to go back next week for either a triple trip for a root canal, or one single trip for an extraction. I have opted for an extraction - fortunately the affected tooth is in a place that will not leave me looking like I'm some kind of Appalachian hillbilly.
 

As I drooped and drooled home (the anaesthetic took 4 hours instead of 2 to wear off) I pondered my father, Belo, who regularly falls asleep during root canals and other dental nastiness.

I considered Titch, whose arm had to swell almost to bursting point with pus-filled yuck before he would consent to A&E.

I considered my Good Twin, whose pain threshold meant she thought a burst appendix was a particularly feisty bout of trapped wind. On the other hand, she thought her gall bladder packing up was agony, so please all my gods don't let that happen to me.

I considered my friend Dianne, among whose symptoms of Behcets is sweating blood. Literally.

And I considered my sister, Auntie Fashion, who has been in Addenbrooke's for just about 2 weeks so far while they work out what they can do about the PML without poking the Behcets back into action.

And I was ashamed.

WIP Wednesday 172: Cutting it Fine

Tarot of Pagan Cats

I know you'll be relieved to hear that Mini Diva made it back from her residential trip safe, if not sound. No, nothing exciting - a bad sore throat, cough and cold from some generous dirty germ-infested child who does not wash their hands and/or cover their mouth. The actual rock-climbing, abseiling, archery, swimming, assault course etc was all absolutely BRILLIANT, apparently. In spite of the wet dark cold weather and the mountains of mud. It must be Titch's genes making a showing, as I would have totally hated it, it is the entire polar opposite to anything I might remotely consider as 'fun'.

Aunty Fashion is back in hospital for a couple of weeks to have her blood 'washed', and then another Campath treatment, but I am hoping to make a trip to visit her. I don't like hospitals, but sometimes I can get a lot of knitting done; and Belo is in rehab.

No, it's not that. 

Or that, actually.

It's cardiac rehab that he should have had about 5 years ago after his triple bypass. So of course he is wanting all kinds of healthy foods like pizza, roti and curry. We are not even discussing goose or duck, just the thought of those makes my arteries constrict.

And here it is. It looks like we might be coming right down to the wire with the NaKniSweMo Blackberry Cabled Cardigan - all I need to do is finish it by the end of Saturday. Both sleeves are set in, all seams are sewed, all ends woven in, and I already have a total of 50,816 stitches - that's without the border, for which I picked up 544 stitches last night ...

Yes, that is my last ball of the Stylecraft Life DK in 'Rose'. The size I'm making requires 1600m/1750yds, and I had 1490m/1630yds. It could get .... interesting ....

Anyway, while I wrestle on with my self-imposed burden, you could go over to Tami's Amis and see happier, more productive people.