What I Did Instead of Knitting Last Night

Amazing, isn't it, how well my spiffy new Air Cast shows off my handknit socks?

Och, Jaysus, this has been quite the week, my friends. It all began on Monday morning with...

Chest pains that wouldn't go away, so I went to the hospital for tests. It turned out to be a big fat nothing, but could have been any number of things. The heart was the main concern, of course, so there was an EKG and blood work. One of those blood tests turned up some kind of clotting factor they didn't like, so they sent me off for a CT scan of my lungs. Apparently they suspected a pulmonary embolism, which information pretty well freaked me out. (That's what finished my Dad off so many years ago when he had cancer -- probably one of those blessings in disguise for him, come to think of it with hindsight.) Lucky for me the lungs were clear, but I was so anxious I never heard the nurse say a splitting headache is one of the commonest side effects from contrast dye, and it doesn't happen right away.

So yesterday, accompanied by the afore-mentioned splitting headache, I went off to work as usual. My supervisor has trouble with kidney stones and has had the CT scan/contrast dye thing so many times she was able to reassure me that I was just having a reaction, NOT a stroke from some random blood clot the CT scan had not tracked down. OK, great, fine, started to go about my work, was walking briskly across the loading dock to deliver some labels, and ended up doing an impromptu gymnastic maneuver instead. Nothing fractured but my dignity, and I let myself lie there for a few minutes cussing and staring at the ceiling, waiting for the pain in my bad knee to go away. (Still can't quite believe how much it hurts to land on a joint that has hardly any cartilege left in it...) Managed to get up, bruised and battered, delivered the labels and got some sympathy from the guys who needed them. Except for the headache, which dwindled as the day wore on, everything was OK. I punched out as usual at 2:30 and started walking up the hill to my car SLOWLY, fully remembering what happened on the loading dock earlier in the day and not wanting a repeat performance...

Well, so much for the best laid plans of mice, men, and cable builders. My left ankle decided to gang a-gley, and I flew through the air with an increasing sense of disbelief, and landed really hard on the sidewalk. This time I really had a lot of trouble getting up again, and my left foot did not settle into anything resembling normal behavior. So, off I went to the ER again, just 24 hours after I was released from Monday's visit. It seems I have a nasty foot/ankle sprain/strain. I have to use crutches for 2 weeks and wear an Air Cast for at least that length of time.

I would much rather have been at the Tuesday Night Knit-In. However, Air Casts are truly extraordinary devices. Yesterday at this time I could not bear weight on the foot and was miserably dragging myself around on crutches. Today, having reapplied the Air Cast after seeing my doctor, I got the thing just right and am now managing to walk around quite painlessly with a single forearm crutch. (I have a pair 'cause they "came with the house.") Ever so much less obtrusive than the clunky old standard aluminum crutches, and I don't look nearly so klutzy and lopsided. I'm just a little slower than normal, and will be for awhile yet.

I don't even want to think about what this is all going to do to my participation in Evensong this weekend. The doctor has said "no prolonged standing." Oops. And I think that means no processions up and down flights of marble stairs, either. Shucks. I might just have to sit in the second pew and avoid moving. We'll see what happens when push comes to shove.

Black 47's new CD compilation, Bittersweet Sixteen, just arrived in my mailbox today. It's nice to hear some old favorite songs revisited. Larry's terrific version of Danny Boy just came up. I think the last time I heard it live, he played it in memory of my dear cousin Brent, who had recently died of AIDS. Larry's Danny Boy character is a gay construction worker who died of AIDS. Not quite Brent's story, but I think Brent heard and understood, wherever he was in the cosmos that night. This new version of the song is even more heart-rending than the original on Home of the Brave. Bravo, Larry, yet again. Love you so, my dear friend. Thanks again, too, from me and from Brent. (The picture below is actually me with Larry, not Brent. Sadly, I have no pictures of me and Brent together, and now more than ever, do I wish I did!)


I think it's now high time I rested my footie and took up some knitting. Ahhh, yesssss.....