This is what we woke up to in Roanoke, VA this morning.
Looks so beautiful, so tranquil...yet, in reality...so dangerous, so treacherous.
We were lucky, only the dimming of lights struck, but no major power outage. The cracking of limbs and tree trunks echoed all around us, and I wondered if one of the oak branches would plummet through our sunroom roof.
The majestic hemlock sunk to the ground as if the entire world rested on its shoulders.
I know the feeling. I prayed both hemlock and I would stay strong and bounce right back up without giving in to a break. It's now late afternoon and the tree has lifted. Now it's my time.
Two Weeks After Surgery:
We were able to get the driveway and vehicle clear of ice and transport the weak-from-all-night- nausea patient to the clinic. I propped her up in a wheel chair in the lobby while I parked the car, and for a moment I felt like we were in the sequel to Weekend at Bernie's. Ginger ale propped in hand, head listing to one side, all she had to do was be coherent enough to get the staples removed from her hip. Nothing was going to stop us from that happening, not even this damn bug that hit first my husband two days ago, and then her about 3:00am. I guess the constant mantra of "she can't get sick, she can't get sick, she can't get sick" did nothing. And I blame myself for this crappy turn of event. You see, had I not taken the couple of efforts towards "giving me a break" by my husband in the caretake of our daughter this weekend, he might not have passed it on to her. I'm sure he didn't realize he was coming down with something, but frankly, he probably wouldn't even admit to not feeling well and besides, he is no Pontius Pilate.
Me, on the other hand, have wrinkles on my fingers. I'm either washing, wiping, spraying, or gelling my hands before I touch anything that the girl will use. I'm a little more stringent right now, but there's not a bag I own that doesn't have at least hand sanitizer and cleansing wipes. I think watching those videos in the hospital really made more aware of how important it is to make sure there are no germs are patients with weakened immune systems and/or surgical wounds.
In any event, the girl is really under the weather, and maybe that was a good thing, yes, a blessing in disguise, if you will. By feeling so miserable, so weak, so "pathetic" (her word, not mine) she was able to endure the removal of "at least" thirty staples from her hip better than had she been perky and aware. Now, that's not to say there wasn't the flinching, ouching, squeezing of hand, while trying to hold back tears of pain, but considering they didn't even numb the area, I think she did damn good, damn good. And now they're out, the wound secured by surge-strips. I haven't looked at it. I just couldn't today. Just hearing the clip of the metal as he built a road map was enough for one day. The surgeon said everything looks good and that's all I need to hear. I did take a gander at the X-ray, before and after shots. Wow. Three long screws (although they looked like nails to me) are holding her leg to the hip. It reminded me of something religious, the way they were thrust in like three daggers in the sacred heart. She's going to definitely set off security alarms.
Now we have to focus on the mend. Once she takes a shower I'm sure that will help psychologically. I bought a slide tub bench which she will need as she has at least six more weeks of being unable to apply any pressure to that leg. You never miss things until you don't use them. Go legs! But right now she has to get some sleep and keep some food down. And I have to continue to stay well, although she seems to think my catching it is inevitable. We'll see...if I go down, it's not going to be pretty...not as pretty as this shot...