More Introductions

(no. still no grandbaby. patience. babies come only when they are ready, or some OB reaches in and hauls them out.)

But - This is Number One. I think he's pleased with it. At the least it amuses him while he waits to be Great (great grampa!!).


Even Tucker appears impressed, and he has no opposable thumbs, nor can he read.


And I do still knit, when I am not ferrying about this book. To wit: finished 2:2 rib socks of leftovers and Regia 4-ply.


And April's Peace Baby, in Valley Yarns Superwash (Yes, even the variegated; it's a cast-off color from Gail, so no you can't have any, sorry, and on top of that I don't think we produced the solid either. But the yarns awesome!!), minus dove - which I will do shortly, I am resizing it to fit perfectly and not be too large. I did some mods, like, oh...well...I did it in the round. And I did an attached I-cord instead of the hem. But that's it really.


Now we just need the baby to come and fill it.

That's all for now - I have to go get a tissue. See. I just got an email from Amy telling me she's going to drop off the...uh oh. I can't even THINK it without laughing out loud. I do not know WHY this has hit me so hard, but I find it hysterical that there is...oh no...snort...A BRITISH EDITION!!!

One Down, One to Go!!

Ahhh, new babies. Nothing like 'em. One of the much anticipated babies came today. She spent the night on a cold garage floor and was found by Mr. (truly amazing, supportive and) Wonderful when he was heading out for work. I brought her in and cried over her. I made her as comfortable as I could while I got ready for work. Today was radio/podcast taping day for the book promotion on Ready, Set, Knit; Webs own podcast. This will air Saturday at 9am on WHMP locally, or can be downloaded as a podcast. In it I say "ummmm" a couple of times, and generally embarrass myself by things like not being able to remember the names of my sample kniters (Kristen Gonsalves NOT Kirsten, for example). It's cool. I highly recommend it, just for the laugh. I hope I improve with experience. Otherwise, someone should shut me up.















Isn't she adorable? You should see her spiral. Her 17 patterns. Her beautifully laid out technique section. She's so lovely. We got in the car and headed for Webs. I knew there were a lot of people waiting for her. First she met Mary...



















Mary made noises that sounded like "squee" and ooooh-ed and aaaaahhh-ed over the pages, and the spiral and the beautiful pictures. Then Karen came in and saw her...



















She was very excited. Her sample socks are called Coquette. Without Karen Minott and my other sample knitters, Katy Wight, Mary-Alice Baker, Kristen Gonsalves, Tamara Stone-Snyder, and Rue Shanti this book would never have happened. Seriously. No way could I have designed and knit 17 pair of socks in 13 weeks, AND written patterns and the technique section, taught at Webs, not killed my kid or husband, and fed the dog at least once a day. No way. They saved my life, saved the book. Mr. Steve even seemed excited about the new arrival - and that's a lot for a guy!



















Next we went into Customer Service and saw Linda. She just wanted to hold the baby - look at her reaching out for it. That's grandmas. 'Gimme that baby!'



















Finally Kathy got to see her.



















Kathy, who has been a stalwart supporter, incredible friend, and comforting listener since the beginning, and really shares responsibility with Stephanie DeSantis at Storey for really making me send in that proposal a year or more ago, should have seen her first. But you know, you take a baby out, and everyone wants a glimpse. Next we taped the radio show/podcast, and I returned to Webs to find a button for my Peace Baby sweater for April (the next baby coming soon!!) After taping we found Pixie taking a lunch break in the classroom, and introduced her.



















While Pixie was flipping pages and oooh-ing and aaahh-ing, Megan (not mine, a different one) came into the classroom. As you can see her joy knew no bounds!



















By this time, baby and me were getting a little tired. It'd been a long day. Way too much excitement for me, though the book seemed ready for another round. On our way out the door, she found a few more fans - from left to right: KT (I knew Meliabella would tell me), Eliza and Marion.















Now, retrospectively - the holiday we recently celebrated...Banana Cream Pie for my MIL's Thanksgiving dinner, from scratch, and really really yummy (if I do say). There was a pumpkin too, but this one is really my fave.















Then there's my faithful assistant, who's sole task is to clean the bowls before they go into the dishwasher. He totally loves this job, which you'd think was an oddity, until you realize he does it with a spatula and his tongue.




















Friday was spent peacefully at home, with Mr W. Girl, Son #1, a good bottle of wine, a few bottles of Molsen XXX and an amazing turkey. Brine, The secret is in the brine. Go ahead. Ask me why Mr W is so intent on his arm. It involves Poor Mel, and a lot of hyperactive cat stimulation that almost always results in injury to the human. You'd think one of them would learn. So what am I thankful for? Every minute.

The Interwebs Despise Me.

I have been trying since the day of turkey to post this. Just one. simple. thing. And the lovely Wildblue satellite internet has not been cooperative.

There's a movement afoot, and I am joining. Now, I could tell sad stories of knitted gifts gone bad, rejected by the giftee, but I won't. Yarnhog has waxed eloquent on the subject, and I stand behind her. And I am making a promise to me. I am not knitting any Christmas gifts this year. Nada. Not a one. That's all I'm sayin'. Brave? Defeated? Heart-broken? Emotionally scarred by a giftee? Join us.



And Kathy is totally right in her comment on last post. Yes I think you should buy the book at Webs preferably on December 16th between 2 and 4 pm, because then I can sign it right there and meet you all, and have a totally rockin' night.

And exemptions to above no knitted gifts rule - grandbabies. Oh, and non-Christmas holidays. And projects already in progress. Yeah, that's it.

For Elaine, and some news!

Elaine asks two questions:

"Melissa, I want to buy your book. Is it better to buy it on Amazon or from Webs? When will Webs have it?"

Well, Elaine, I will answer your first question first! If you're local, and you don't want to wait for Amazon (who, in my experience, is often slow in shipping pre-ordered items) there will be books available at the launch party and at Webs, I assume beginning December 16th. I and Webs are assured by the publisher (Amy...correct me if I am wrong here...) that books are coming by air for the launch party. Each one will be signed by moi, and personalized if you stand in line and have me sign it for you on the spot. It will not be $12, though. It'll be $16.95.So really it comes down to patience and money. If you are willing to wait it out for the $4 savings, order it from Amazon. If you want it now, now, now (like me, who'd probably buy a case of the things just to HAVE IT HERE NOW) then you can snag one at Webs.

"And what the hell is peppercorn chocolate, anyway? :)"

Your second question requires more contemplation. I am a bit of a chocolate lover. Also dark, smokey, leathery wines and warm, peaty scotches. I like thick, rich flavors with lots of complexity and layering. Dolfin is a well-known Belgian chocolate maker who specializes in blending high-quality chocolate with novel and rich flavors, like ginger, cardamom, anise, etc. As they say "Fruits, spices, herbs and flowers are mingled with precious chocolate in sometimes surprising but always harmonious combinations." The pink peppercorn is just that - a blend of a dark chocolate and crushed pink peppercorn blended in a way that makes your eyes water and your face break out in smiles. We're talking rich, deep flavors, lower fat than conventional chocolates, higher cocoa content, and some really stellar blends. For a really enjoyable sit and knit night, get a bunch of women together, buy a couple of Dolfin sampler packs and nosh your way through them, preferably with a tawny port. Almost as good as...well, maybe not that good, but darn close.

Now, news - yesterday my son (Indigestion, anyone?) called me and told me that 1.) I have been added to the labor and delivery room list, meaning there may be, if Sarah2 does not change her mind (which I would totally respect) excessive newborn bonding with April as I may be at her birth, which would totally thrill me beyond reason and 2.) she's 90% effaced and 2 cm dilated and the baby is well down in her pelvis. Labor is expected within the next 5 days. I'm gonna be a GRANDMA (again)!!

Oh, gee. I just went and read the Indigestion post. Tear-jerker, given the likely outcome of this coming week.

Something to Show For It

C'mon...admit it...you missed me! I am back for the moment with new and exciting things to share, or at least some knitting anyway. And some news - Webs is asking people who are coming to the launch party to register - please click here and sign up if you're coming. This is going to be huge fun, I think. They've even slapped me on the front page of the website, which is very exciting and just a little intimidating. As are the really, really beautiful signs Katy made to hang around the store. I can't look them in the eye, it's all so surreal still. I went to North Adams and saw Amy and Jayme and Stephanie (not the author one. the other one.) and a host of other people who's names I forget too easily (Margaret, Pam, Deborah, Gwen, and more and more and more). Best of all I saw finished shiny pages and it made me cry. Not a whole book, but enough to make me get chills. It's so amazing what they did with my words. You know, you hand off a CD and a hard copy of a black and white word document, and you hope it turns out pretty in the end. Then it comes back, and this time it's not just pretty, it totally outstrips anything I imagined and I adore it. Even though I have not yet held it in my hands. (By the way, I feel not so much excited, as 42 weeks pregnant with a doctor who refuses to induce...I wanna SEE it already!!)
First I have a pair of Frog in a Party Dress, new Franklin color, 2-at-a-Time Socks for the store to advertise the workshops I'll be giving in the spring. They're a pattern from the book, but I'm dipped if I can remember what they're called. Twilight?? I think? Anyway, they'll be knitted up past the heel and still on needles for display for interested parties. The workshop will be a one-day class in which folks can create a small sample pair of 2-at-a-Time Socks all their own.
Next, there's this toe-up pair I started with scraps from the Maine Woods socks...also Franklin, colorway Pinecone. I did not have enough to make a whole pair, so added Regia 4-ply brown (10) to compliment. They're actually done, though this is in progress. I am loving toe-ups. I've been working on heels and casting on, and getting a little fun with it. From this picture, you'd think the addition of a second color made them a little odd. It didn't. I used the remainder scraps of the Pinecone to make random stripes in a couple of places along the leg and top cuff, so really it all blends together beautifully when finished. I love them. Well, love socks period, really. And I love that toe-ups seem to fit so perfectly, because I can try them on as I go and make adjustments as needed. But I still like a heel flap, so I've been experimenting with various ways to get a turned heel and a heel flap on a toe-up. Fun.
Still not done is my Radiance for myself. The yarn is, of course, Colrain, and the color is Chestnut. The body is completed as is the shawl collar. All it needs are sleeves. You'd think I was asking myself to knit them in fingering weight yarn on size 0's with a book balanced on my head in less than one day the way I am dragging my feet over silly simple sleeves. It's why I rarely knit anything twice. Once, fine. Twice? Yawn. It's just the way I am. Give me six or so months, maybe longer, between and I can do it. But drum up enthusiasm to reknit something I just knitted, when there's a million other things in my head that want to be knitted?? It kills me. When I started to make the 2-at-a-times for the store, I intended to use a pattern from the book. But I knit half of them. My mind wanted to do something DIFFERENT. I started designing on the needles, and halfway to Manchester, NH for Christmas shopping I had to rip back 2 inches when I realized I was not sticking to the plan.
I made a Koolhaas, which I love. I did it because Katy said I should. She was right. It was good. Cunning decreases, obviously the man spends a lot of time with EZ. It was quick and a nice palate cleanser. Now I just need a head for it. My head does not look well in anything without a brim. I stuck it on the headgehog...but it really doesn't look great on him either. Oooo!! CHRISTMAS! The yarn is Williamstown in color 14, aka "same as the squid". I needed only one ball although the pattern calls for 190 yards. I've been considering a scarf or ascot-ty thing in the same yarn and color using the same pattern. Then it could really be a Christmas gift! it really looks much better on a people. The hog does not do it justice, and really you don't want to see it on me. I just can't wear non-cowgirl hats, plain and simple.
Hmmm..lemme see..what else...oh. Last week after my 10 - 12 and 12-2 classes - socks from measurements and mittens from measurements, I went to lunch with Katy at Bueno y Sano. Lunch is safe. And I am always up for really good, low-cost Mexican. Then Katy says - she says oh-so-innocently - "I need some REAL dutch-process cocoa." The next thing you know I am in a kitchen store - always a dangerous place - with a sign that says "Culinary Specialties: Cooks Shop Here". You know how some people have little falling down accidents with their credit cards around yarn?? I am generally pretty controlled around yarn. But kitchen stuff? Tea? Chocolate? A million olive oils? REAL balsamic?? I am weak. I managed to escape only $40 in the hole. Not bad for a first visit. I got two teas - a chai and an herbal called Good Morning Sunshine. They're now replacing my morning decaf. I also got an adorable little tea basket that fits into my single mug. I love it. The tea can really bloom and is not constrained by a gadgety flip-top thing like the one I already own for loose leaf tea. It's never made me happy. It came free with coffee mugs at EMS about ten Christmases ago. I got two bars of chocolate - Dolfin Pink Peppercorn (uuuhhh...oooohhhh...mmmmmm...) and some Cluizel cocoa powder. That was it. Considering the offerings, and my weakness where Real Food is concerned I did amazingly well. I tried to remind myself that if I overshop too much with Katy, Mr. W will put the Ky-bosh on my Wednesday afternoon lunches, and really - that would be very very detrimental to my mental health.
Happy Thanksgiving to my American readers, may you be reminded of why we're thankful to live where we do and how we do, and have the freedom denied to so many others around the world. Only in America can a troubled teen high school drop-out divorced single mom bust her butt and become a Registered Nurse, then 360 around and write a bestselling (there ya go, Amy, game on!!) book about socks and start teaching knitting as a career path. I am so very, very thankful.

Some days it does not pay to get up.

I went to the north country for materials for my blocking class. Everyone makes a mini blocking board using a chair cushion, a yard of gingham and some duct tape. A certain chain fabric store north of my home has only one cushion. I need more than one. I ask them to call the next closest store - about an hour and a bit south - to see if they've got any. The clerk assisting me offers generously to do so. If she can find the number.

So I stand and wait while they search. There is no easy to find, well-labeled list of local stores. It's all a big mishmash, not alphabetical, not by state even, but by store number. So unless you have the store numbers of all area or regional stores memorized, it's hunt and peck. I mention "Information?" but either no one hears me, or they choose to ignore me. I am not certain. I prefer to think they could not hear me, because really they seem rather pleasant and helpful otherwise. Finally they find the number. They call. I wait more, standing. The other store has got cushions - 10 of them. They will hold them for me for 24 hours, but all I need is one or two hours really. I buy the gingham (10 yards) and head out for my next stop - tax-free duct tape. I need to make the trip worth something. I decide on the local Target because they have a Starbucks, and I think I deserve something.

In Target I realize a few things. First, I apparently take larger steps when I am in a hurry. Second wearing cowboy boots with a 2.5" heel is a bad choice if your innards are still a bit tender, whether you are standing or moving. Third, and perhaps most importantly, the duct tape is in the back of the store in a corner. Under a pile of paint brushes, right next to a big lady who doesn't want to move who's wearing a large amount of perfume. And the store seems very big all of a sudden. Very, very big. After distracting the lady guarding the paint brushes, I grab my tape and make for the front, slowly, convincing myself that I am "shopping". There has to be an excuse for walking slowly in Target. I remember that I need a salad spinner for this class since the washer in the classroom has died a well-earned death, and I need to spin dry students' swatches. I get back to the registers at the same time everyone else does. How does this happen? As I enter the line, people are jockeying for position, knocking into each other with their shopping carts. There's a lot of glaring and hostility. I keep my eyes front, and my head down. I got a good spot. But I am, as a result, in line. Standing in line. I am no longer enjoying standing. The girl ahead of me has some sort of disease for which she's acquired a prescription, but not enough sense to cover her mouth or use a tissue on her nose. Now I know why this line was so short. I touch nothing. I get done with line.

A positive thing happens at the Starbucks kiosk - I ask for a venti (splurge!) nonfat decaf cinnamon dolce latte and the girl says "Would you like sugar-free syrup in that?" (Why yes I would!) She's lovely and I want to take her home with me. I jokingly say "There's not much left in there now that I've taken out the fat, the caffeine and the sugar!" She laughs a very real laugh, smiles and says "I can give you some whipped cream?" I decline, but am grateful for the offer. She is still lovely and I still want to bring her home. But with the barista tools and stuff. I could keep her in the pantry and she could make me lattes all day long. Nonfat, decaf, sugar-free lattes...

I head south. I get to a small town in NH which is not exactly the cradle of civilization. In fact, it's often referred to locally as "the land that time forgot". And apparently something exciting is happening this town, right this minute. Traffic is stopped in all directions, and no one will move so I can turn around and escape. There's police and fire men and gas men but no one to direct traffic, and they are all very, very busy. Very busy indeed. Big doings. I manage to get turned around and find myself on what appears to be a glorified cow track which I think in winter must just close right up, since it's not wide enough for a plow. Somehow I avoid the entanglements along the way, pods of other folks who made a right a bit too soon and are now in a worse position than they were before. I find myself back in a small pile of traffic - made entirely of confused out of state folks who do not understand where they should or can go. Finally I escape, but only after gently nudging an old lady from CT into the river. But she asked for it. It was her own fault. Indecision on the road is bad. Even a bad choice is better than no choice when the driver behind you is in pain and has another hour behind the wheel just to get to the cushions. And if her car had been a little bigger I would not have been able to get my bumper under hers that way.... I am, by this time, dying. I want drugs. I want my chair. I am not happy.

Girl calls. She and Miss Tray-Tray are annoyed that I am not going to have time for a manicure and pedicure, and that I no longer feel up to one even if I had the time. I punish them for their insolence by sending them to retrieve my chair pads. They're lucky I went easy on them.

I am home now. There are drugs here. And my chair. I hope they find the old lady in the river, when they're done with the big excitement at the Gas n' Go.

Where'd She Go?

This is possibly my longest post ever. And it contains no knitting. I have not been able to knit for days. You'll see...if you can stand the length!
I debated making this entry, and how to approach this subject. I have not used the blog to discuss my issues with endometriosis in great detail. But in order to excuse my utter lack of knitting I have to cop to the fact that I had surgery for endo a week ago and have been recovering since. And falling asleep every time I try to knit. I had a series of three procedures performed, all of which are an attempt to retain my uncooperative uterus to the grave. We are at cross purposes. It, and my left ovary, were seeking to kill me, I seek to function. I think I may now have the upper hand.
So I will spare you the gory details, and the sarcastic commentary on the procedures themselves (which involves the use of words like "zzzZZzzzZAAAP!"), so the squeamish can read on, maybe...because there's tales to tell from the Day-Stay surgery unit, my friends.
My day (this would be a week ago this very morning) began at the ungodly even for me hour of 5:30. Summertime, maybe. But fall? No way. It's DARK. It's COLD. I don't get up until 6:30. Period. I dragged myself from my comfortable bed where I'd passed a sleepless night. The sore throat that started Friday was gone, and I had to accept that fact that the surgery was indeed going to move forward. The hospital had called to change my surgical time from a sleep-friendly 9am arrival with a 10:30am OR time, to 6am and a 7:30 OR time. Good, right? Get in, get out, move on? Wrong. Sorta. Mr. W and I arrived at 6am only to find a deserted unit. Nobody. Nada. Zip. So we sat. My formerly calm self was falling to heck in a hurry. At 6:20am a human appeared. I sarcastically (but with a smile) quipped "Oh, Good. I was beginning to think I was the only one here." She said "Why are you here?" I said "Because they told me to on my answering machine 6am with a 7:30 OR time." They had lied. On a normal day this would not offend me too badly. But an extra half an hour in a pre-surgery waiting room? I told her I wanted drugs. I didn't get any.
They called me in for prep at 6:30. I was given the requisite one size fits all-not - ties in the back because the other patients so want to see your butt johnny, and my very own nurse. I decided to be a Good Patient and not make her insane. As I was changing I hear a bunch of kerfuffle about the lack of "stickers". There is a chart bearing my history, my paperwork from the lab, my name, SSN and DOB, mailing address, next of kin; but no stickers in sight. Stickers are essential in a clinical sestting. They tell people who you are, when you were born, and where you live. They go on everything. Chart. Bracelet. Any and all paperwork. They also let people know who your MD is, and whether or not you're allergic to, say, one size fits all johnnies. Etc. Then I hear the words I am so tired of: "Oh. I see. There are TWO of them". Instantly I know what the issue is. In spite of the fact that I have changed my name to the hyphenated Melissa Morgan-Oakes, meaning that a search for me should begin and end in the M's, they have managed to deduce that there is a second person with a similar name living in the same little happy valley. For 10 years I've been dealing with this "issue". And can they just look at the birth dates and pick one?? No. They've got to stand there and play 20 questions about which me I am, or if maybe I am her instead. But they can't ask me which me I am, since under our lovely new privacy laws they can't even acknowledge that there's another "me" in the system. I call out from behind the curtain. "Ummm....if it helps, I have a sister-in-law with a similar name and same year of birth. I'm the one born in February.". There's a pause. Obviously I have thrown a wrench in the works by stating the obvious. CHECK THE BIRTH DATE?! Then I hear "OH! OK, that's perfect, we've got you now."
Am I nervous?? Why should I be? Just because they can't get the time straight. And can't tell the difference between a hyphenated name and a not hyphenated one. Or the difference between a 4 and a 2 (April, February??). Why should I be nervous??
I am now stickered. They can complete my check in. I meet Natasha my anesthesiologist. She tells me that there could be complications of anesthesia, including death, (and a list of other stuff you don't really hear because your brain is still stuck at 'death'). But, she says, I am young, healthy, and this will not be an issue for me. (Which thing? The death? Or the part where I can't talk ever again?...ok. you in the back. knock it off. I saw the snicker. you think it'd be funny if I could not talk again?? I'd just have to type louder! HAH!!).
The time has come for my IV. When I was a teenager I had arthroscopic surgery on my knee and just wanted it out, it made me feel very creepy and jumpy. I've had others between times and never so much as flinched or batted an eye. I always let them know that I have small veins that roll a lot. I had just gone through the small, rolly vein fun Friday for my pre-op labs. I was thrilled that it only took two butterfly sticks and twenty minutes to fill the two little tubes. Because I have small and hard to stick veins, I am generally ok with things taking a bit longer, and sometimes being a bit uncomfortable. "Just Breathe...Relax," I repeat in my head, "this too shall pass." Most people generally go for the back of my hand with a smaller gauge needle. My nurse wanted to use a standard sized needle, which meant finding a larger vein. But there were none in sight. She wrapped my arm in hot towels. I pumped my little fist. We found a vein. She poised herself and drove what I can only describe as a railroad spike (aka 18g IV catheter) into my left wrist. Yow. But it was in. Patent and flowing. Who am I to argue?? I ask for drugs again. I get none (again). They bring in Mr. Wonderful. In spite of his loving presence, the pain did not go away. In fact, it felt alot like my thumb was sharply uncomfortable and my fingers were numb. So here I am, a "retired" RN, now knitter, with a NUMB HAND. I was not pleased. Numb hands mean...I might have to give up knitting. And return to (gulp) nursing! I held my tongue. 'Be A Good Patient' I said over and over. It would pass. But it didn't. I said "Um. This still kinda is not very comfortable". She was pretty clear on her plans that we keep the IV in place. I was becoming equally clear in my plans to get rid of it. Seconds away from pulling it out myself, really. Another nurse came over and asked how I was. I said "Um. This is still kinda not very comfortable. And, uh, my fingers are getting numb...." (can you say broken record?) "It's on a nerve," she says "it has to come out." I now love this nurse. I think her name is Judy and I think she was my OR circulator. Natasha, alerted to the activity, approaches. "Is there a problem?" she asks. Now, nurse #1 is preparing to insert another railroad spike into the other wrist - same location, same gauge. Mr. Wonderful has been sent from the room. He faints over this sort of thing. I am, well, freaking a bit and saying things like "Um, maybe we could use a 22 gauge? Just for today? I mean, it's a short surgery. I have small veins. I am young. Healthy..." Natasha runs a hand over my arm, assessing. "Eh," she says shrugging "she iss small person. It iss small surgery. You can use a 20? a 22? Zat vill be fine." It is at this point that Natasha becomes my lifelong hero. My new best friend. A person I would so truly hug, if I had been able to get up at that point. If I had been able to get up? I would have left.
My doctor comes in as we're starting IV #2 on the right arm to distract me by marking my stomach so she does not take an ovary from the wrong side. This, I think, will be helpful. It is good that she take only the one I actually need gone. She says she'll see me inside. I say "Now can I please have some drugs???"
My best friend Natasha brings me some Versed. Versed is my old best friend. It is in the nick of time. My brain is so over this. It wants to leave, and leave now. Screwed up times, charts, stickers, IV's on nerves, confusion about who I even am, and letters on my belly to make sure we don't take the wrong organs? Oh, and anesthesia? It can cause death. WHY WOULD ANY SANE PERSON NEED DRUGS!?!?!?!?!
As we head down the hall, me on my fluffy pink Versed cloud with Natasha and Judy by my side, I ponder my "dream". Judy requested that I choose one before entering the OR. A nice dream to take me to dreamland. A favorite vacation spot perhaps. Maybe a favorite moment with the husband I just left behind in the pre-op area with instructions for disbursement of yarn and books in the event of the "death" part occurring? Not for me, folks. For me it is a dream in 14 colors. A poem if color, if you will. I begin to describe in great detail to Judy and Natasha (who are nodding and saying 'uh-huh...mmmm...' reassuringly although they have no clue what I am speaking of) about The Wild Apple. The colors. The histo....rrr...yy.....
The next thing I know I hear an alarm and someone is telling at me to breathe. I stink at breathing. It just is not my best thing. It never has been. I think I may have offered up this bit of information as I tried to clear my head. "Look, I suck at breathing." "Are you in pain?" (No...how could I be? There's three holes in my gut, and my .... oh wait. I said I was not going to do the sarcastic thing, the thing where I say something like 'and my uterus has just been zapped with 90 seconds of electricity, zzzzZZZAAPP, why should I be in PAIN!?' Phew. Good thing I caught that.) "A little" I say. I get drugs. I really don't want a lot of drugs, because I want to wake up. Me and the stupid O2 sensor alarm do battle for a while. I don't want to breathe. I want to go home. So a lot of the time when they ask if I am in pain I lie, or negotiate it so they give me a smaller drug. I wake up faster, I get up faster, I am so alert that I become a nuisance. I want ginger ale. I want to pee. I need to move. In this way I am able to be on my feet and well out the door by 10:30am, with "patient declined wheel chair" written on my chart, right before "Good riddance!!" At 10:50am I am drug-dialing people on Mr. W's cell in a parking lot to tell them I "...am out of surgery and FIIINEE!" I call Girl. I call Number One. I think I called my mother. "It went great," I say, "and we're on the way home". I do this during the brief period Mr. Wonderful leaves me unsupervised in the car as he drops off my Percocet prescription.
Once home he sticks a horse pill down my throat and leaves to go get my Percocet. Now, post-operatively it is important that the patient be supervised for 24 hours, lest they get into any trouble. But I am relatively well-behaved, and not particularly comfortable, so my plan is to avoid trouble by drug-emailing people from my laptop in my chair while he runs out for pills and lunch. How much trouble can there be in that?? I avoid trouble quite well, generally. As I open my email I see that I've received one! A special email from the Loopy Ewe. It's SNEAK UP TIME! And I am stoned, and lacking supervision. I start chucking stuff into a cart, giggling nervously. I figure, if I can remember my PayPal password, I can check out long before Mr. W gets back, blame the drugs, and wait for the yarn to arrive. I am gleeful. Then the phone rings. Number One is calling to verify that my previous drug-dial was correct, that I am 1.)alive, 2.)home, and 3.) 'fine'. Mr. Wonderful returns with Pad Thai and Percocet (I highly recommend this post-op combo - truly the best for fast healing). I forget about yarn, and by the time I returned to the laptop I no longer cared about knitting. I wanted to sleep. Sadly, sleep was elusive. I napped, but only cat-nap style, ten or so minutes before I'd wake up. It's been that way since. I fall asleep while knitting, only to wake up a few minutes later. I knit some more, I sleep for ten minutes, I knit for three, sleep for ten and so on. That about describes my week, Monday - Wednesday. Somewhere in there, while I was drugged and he was distracted, Mr. Wonderful and I made the decision to stay at All Stars at Disney World for a week - I am not sure exactly how that happened, but we're following it with a cruise in a really nice cabin, so that should compensate me a little for the insanity of a Disney Value Resort. By Thursday I was ready to make the trip to Webs for drop in. Saturday I attended a baby shower for my new grand baby. And I taught a class on Sunday and overdid a little I think.
Here's Girl and her niece to be and Sarah-2 at the shower. I have to number the Sarah's around here. Two grand babies, two Sarah's. It can get confusing. For the sake of convenience we've decided that Aidan's mom is Sarah-1 as she is older (by a whole two years) and came into our lives first. April's mom is Sarah-2, since she's younger and came into our lives second. The fathers are much easier to keep track of, being Eric and Daniel, respectively. Thank heaven Mr. W. and I did not name our sons the same, or we'd have a serious issue on our hands.
And here's me with Sarah-2 and April, my granddaughter, who you may not be able to see clearly, but trust me she's there, right under my hand, head down and ready to go early next month. My Granddaughter. Weird. It was wonderful to see Sarah looking healthy and vibrant, and wonderful to touch April before she's here. When you're not pregnant and not around a lot it can be hard to connect with babies that aren't here yet. I was connected with Emily because I saw her mom a lot, and in fact carried on whole conversations with Emily-in-utero while her mother worked. I hope once April arrives we can see each other often. In fact, I kinda can't wait to get my hands on her little person and sniff that sweet new baby smell, and cuddle and coo. And then, when she befouls her garments, or requires sustenance?? Back she goes! This is, I have found, the best part of grand motherhood. Wow. I just previewed that. I am really short, aren't I? Heh.
Anyway - since I totally overdid it this weekend, I am going back to my chair. And I apologize for the lack of knitting and the long ramble. Now that it's off my chest, maybe a finished Radiance by next post?? Maybe a certain book in the mail? Who knows...time will tell.