Archive for the ‘health issues’ Category

Finger update

Thanks for all your concern.  As usual, I was overreacting.   Nothing was hanging by the skin, there was no bone sticking out, the blood was dripping but not spurting.  I did make Andy get dressed in case he had to drive me for stitches (even though it was only 1 in the afternoon), but I decided that the cut was really not in a place where stitches would work.  I’d likely come out of it with a big white pressure dressing (which is just plain embarrassing) so I opted for the gauze-and-tape-do-it-yourself treatment.  There really was quite a bit of blood, but it had stopped by the next day.

This is the aftermath:


As I commented to I can’t remember who (TerriJoy?  Maybe I lost more blood than I thought.), yes, I could still knit, albeit with my pointer finger straight up in the air.  (Good thing it wasn’t my middle finger!)  It wasn’t fast or pretty, but it worked all right.   Except for the damned second sock. It’s not that I’ve lost interest; I just sort of forgot for a minute  how to knit lace.

Mike’s out of here for a few days  for business, so I may even have the sock done.  The lace cuff is finally finished, and now it’s just a plain ordinary sock.  Should be done by deadline!


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another setback

So here I was, all ready to sit down and write a witty yet relevant blog post as soon as I finished my lunch, when I encountered a little setback.  The scenario involved some almond butter with no emulsifier and an immersion blender.  Suffice it to say that only an idiot would attempt to clean the blades on an immersion blender without disconnecting it from the motor, and I am typing this with just my right index finger.  I shall elucidate once coagulation has occurred.  Long story short?  Can’t type.  Bleeding.

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You may have noticed that things have been quiet here on the blog.   I’ve been busy doing odds and ends,  but mostly I was waiting for a phone call before I could write this and hopefully elicit sympathy from someone somewhere.

The phone call I was waiting for was from my doctor.  You see, two weeks ago I was retrieving something that had been placed prematurely in the big garbage bin outside, and rather than tipping it slightly to reach in, I just lunged over the side.  Musta been a sight to see,  ass in the air,  just like the black bears foraging at the campground before they put lids on the garbage cans.  I reached for the item in question and heard a loud “crack” sort of a noise.  I could tell by the pain in my chest that it wasn’t the garbage bin cracking, but the first thought through my mind was that the underwire from my bra had pushed into my chest.  Then I thought perhaps it was a roll of fat doing the same thing (because sadly, that has become an issue in the last few years).  In an uncharacteristic moment of toughness, I dove back  in after what ironically turned out to be not there after all.  I finished replacing the filter in the furnace humidifier (yes, I can be handy like that!) and sat down with my friend Mr. Tylenol and his buddy Mr. Icepack.  Couldn’t catch my breath, couldn’t lift my arm, couldn’t lie on my side or my front or my back, couldn’t take any pressure on the spot at all.  There was no bruise, so I suspect that Mike thought it was psychosomatic.   I was sitting in my chair a few evenings later and noticed that my abdomen was distended, and decided that  I obviously had internal bleeding and would probably die soon.  (It turned out to be indigestion.  Never mind.)

Well, four days later and the pain was getting worse, so off trots I to the doctor.  He poked and prodded, and sent me for an x-ray to determine if I had separated my ribs or actually cracked or broken one.  He said to call the office for the results, but when I did I had to talk to the Pitbull receptionist who is less than friendly.   She brushed me off by telling me that the doctor would call if there was any problem;  otherwise he wouldn’t.  I guess I’ll have to get the official results next time I see him, but for now I choose to believe that I did indeed crack a couple of ribs.  He told me that if they were cracked, the fourth day would be the worst for pain, and that’s what happened.   So, without benefit of official confirmation, I am announcing that I have had cracked ribs.  That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.  This is the part where you all shower me with sympathy and express your admiration for my bravery in the face of pain.

Andrew went on a snowboarding adventure last week, took my jeep and my camera, and managed not to crash the car, lose the camera, or get kicked out of the hotel for drunk and disorderly.  I felt almost as lost without the camera as the car, so the first thing I did when he got back was take a picture of this:


Yes, I actually wore the socks in shoes, as functional socks.  Then, much to my dismay, when I took off my shoes I realized that my big toe was nearly through the sock.  First wearing- aaacckkk.  I am quite willing to share the blame for this with Noro Kuryon sock yarn- I suspect that in my zeal not to break the wool (which I found a little delicate) I did not knit to a tight enough tension.   I actually cut off the toes (this always drives Mike to distraction), picked up the stitches and re-knit the toe with Kroy. Voila- serviceable at least.


And no, my left foot really isn’t this much longer than my right foot.  I cannot be expected to work a camera and keep my toes level at the same time.  Anyhoo, I am so proud of myself for figuring out the fix myself that I think I’ll go and have some Cheerios.

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Almost Human

Thank you to everyone who sent get well wishes my way. I feel almost human, and as long as I can refrain from lifting anything more than 10 pounds for the next four weeks, I anticipate a full and successful recovery. Note to Terri: If there was codeine in my tylenol, there would have been a rather spectacular rash and possibly projectile vomiting. In technicolour.  So, no codeine.

The day of the surgery progressed in a fashion typical to me- scattered and a little disorganized. Mike got me to the hospital at 6:00am, and then had to turn around and drove home to pick up the paperwork I had left on the kitchen table. (I had remembered to pack my in-progress Pi Shawl, but not the paperwork.  Just an indication of at where was my mind.)  I was able to knit for a couple of hours before they came to get me for the walk to surgery (not even a wheelchair; the service was a little lacking). At first I thought I was in the wrong place; the holding pen room was full of senior citizens waiting for eye surgery and hip replacements.  But I was in the right place, and was soon ushered into the operating theatre.  There was a student anesthetist working with the regular anesthetist, and while she tried hard, the vein for the IV was playing hard to get.  The only way to describe the sensation was that it felt like a really big starburst in my hand.  I was very brave, and she was most aplogetic, but I was quite happy to let the senior anesthetist take over.  I got a spinal (meaning I was supposedly awake for the procedure), but they also gave me “something to relax me”, and the only thing I remember about the surgery was opening my eyes and seeing the screen set up across my chest (really, like I was going to try to watch?), and hearing someone say “please cough” and I was happy to oblige.  Next recollection is being wheeled into recovery feeling like I had just had a good nap, and one of the orderlies saying to the other “We’ve got a happy one here.”  I was grinning like the village idiot. 

I did discover that when you’re still frozen you can’t feel the stuff they accidentally leave in the bed.  Then, as the sensation came back, I discovered  a hard plastic vial, some tubing, an open package of lube jelly under my butt (and not the warming kind, either), and then some scrunched up stuff that should have hit the garbage can.  Sadly, by this time I was realizing that my hip flexors really hurt.  Turns out that when your ass is frozen, you can’t feel that you’ve been riding the horse (as it were) for too long.  I’m glad there was no activity involving an open abdominal cavity; there’s no telling what might have been left behind.  (“Omigod.  I dropped my pager.  Has anyone seen my pager?”)

I was glad to get home, and the next couple of days I laid low.  When I took my first post-op shower, I discovered that one of the stick-on contacts for the heart monitor was still attached.  Not having a do-it-yourself defibrillator, I had no need for the contact.  Off it came.  At least it wasn’t connected to anything important.

I’m walking normally, the headache is gone, and I haven’t found anything else that’s not supposed to be there.  Hooray!

Speaking of the Pi Shawl:

It blocked beautifully and drapes gracefully.  The edging is from Myrna Stahman’s Shawls and Scarves (which apparently is out of print- someone correct me if I’m wrong, please.) and is the edging used for the Susan and Alberta Shawls.  In spite of my careful counting and increasing to accomodate the 20 row repeat/”knit 2tog with next stitch on needle” instruction, I goofed on the very first point and had to fudge the last one.  Someone more anal than me (that would be pretty much everyone) would likely have frogged the whole edge and re-knit it.  I don’t care.   

My splices held (thank goodness!) and there are only 2 or 3 mistakes in it.  I used 400 grams of Misti Alpaca worsted (don’t know the colour) and my favourite Turbo needles.  I just wish the needles were a little more pointed- K3tog was a touch awkward.  I should have gone at least another 10 rounds, but that’s 5750 stitches that wanted to be knit somewhere else.  I will likely not use it for a shawl (too small)  or a tablethrow, but it will make a nice girl-baby gift someday.  Into the tickle trunk it goes.

I have taken a step over to the dark side, but I’m not staying.  Specifically, I am Knitting Socks.  I bought the wool last fall to knit a pair for my sister’s friend who claims to love wool socks, and the plan was to have them done for Christmas.  The wool is San Diego by Wisdom Yarns. 

Here it is, not even the end of April, so I am right on schedule.  Top down, eye-of-partridge heel (planned), matching stripes.  Is there no end to the fun I’m having?  Well, yes.  I expect that the fun will end around the same time I have to graft the toes.  I hate grafting.  I hate Kitchener (whoever that was…)  Maybe a 3-needle castoff?   After the socks, perhaps I will revisit the peacock feather shawl  or the green pullover.  Or maybe the top-down t-shirt?  Lots of choices!

It always surprises me how much pleasure I can derive from seemingly trivial things:


Four throw pillows and I feel like nominating myself for the Martha Stewart award.  I even picked them out myself.  As usual, Mike doesn’t “get” the whole throw pillow concept (he thinks they’re called throw pillows because that’s what you have do with them before you sit down), but I am sticking to my guns.  In terms of decorating, my house is a circle, not a straight line.  Asking when I’ll be done decorating is like asking when I’ll be done knitting.  When they pry the paintbrush/needles from my cold dead hands.

And now, three of the other great joys in my life:

The one on the right is Geoff, and the one who looks panic-stricken is Wallace.  (But you  knew that.)  No pictures of Andy today, but here’s the long and the short of Attie.

She’s doing her best greyhound imitation.  (scroll down for the Princess.)


As Mum would say, snug as a bug in a rug! 

Well, I must toddle off now and knit some heels.  Starting from now, I will accept any words of encouragement for toe grafting (that sounds a little Frankensteinish, doesn’t it?) that anyone cares to forward.  Wish me luck.



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