Does this look bad to you?
The adventure continues! Elaine has been working overtime with the engineers putting powerlines all over the west, so more people can buy cars with big batteries from China. I know, I blame Elaine, also.
The problem with the powerline gig (definition: a stupid word made up by rock stars trying to entice kids. "Hey, come to my gig.") is that she/we have a trade show to prepare for. These battery powerlines are cutting into our preparation time.
And then! As if we didn't have enough time problems, I had to utter those words, "Does this look bad to you?"
The week started out pretty well. Elaine was clipping items off her list. Usually, I really don't know what day it is, so I erroneously thought I was in good shape for the trip to Santa Fe. (I told you, the trade show is in Santa Fe. If you need to keep up and read previous Mumbling's, please do.)
On Monday, I was able to complete tasks. Elaine and I agreed on who was going to stay with Lizzie. Tuesday was looking good. I kept my breakfast meeting with my friend. I did need to push it back half an hour. I went to the feed store to pick up food for chickens, ducks, the goose, and guineas. Senior citizens get a ten percent discount on Tuesdays. TMI? Came home and worked on getting ready for the show.
And then here comes Wednesday! Hump Day! One week until we travel Day! I noticed something unusual Wednesday morning. I didn't share it with Elaine. I wanted to see if she noticed it. If she did, I could decide if it was as bad as it looked to me.
By mid-afternoon it was obvious it was time to point it out to Elaine. "Does this look bad to you? I think I need to go to the hospital." My left calve was twice as big as my right calve. Hi-ho, hi-ho, it's off to the hospital we go.
It's about an hour of drive time from our house to the hospital. Unless you get to use Flight for Life, which I was considering but Elaine talked me off that cliff. As I was driving I was thinking of all the horrible things a fat left calve could mean. Elaine had more conservative thoughts. "It's probably something minor."
Both nurses at the hospital asked the same question. "Have you ever had a blood clot?" Well, the truth is, I have. "We will get the doctor." I looked at Elaine and thought, "Something minor my (construction language)"!
The doctor comes into the room. "You don't have a blood clot, but we need to do an ultrasound to make sure. Elaine was smirking at me.
You know, not all ultrasounds are a beautiful thing like rolling a ball across the mid-section of a pregnant lady. That seems like such a happy test, determining if that little baby has a weiner (Northern Colorado hillbilly term). If it has a wiener, it's a boy. No, wiener it's a girl. Unless, of course, the ultrasound tech cannot find a wiener, and then it's inclusive.
I'm here to tell you not all ultrasounds are beautiful. If they are looking for a blood clot in your left calve, they start by pressing that (construction language) ball into your groin so hard that, well, screaming is OK, if you need to.
Turns out the doc was right. That's a good thing, right? Some kind of skin infection. "Ten days of pills and you should be good as new. If not go to your doctor and get another ten days of pills. Try to rest the leg."
I have a show to get ready for. No chance I can stay off the leg. I can't hop and carry things.
There is a good chance I will not tell a story next Sunday. I'll get to it when I get back.
Buy yarn, come to Santa Fe! Love ya, God Bless!
Our crazy lives!