Updates and clarifications

You know some clarifications on my last post so no one is uncomfortable. The handsome charming ex-boyfriend really ceased being an ex-boyfriend a very long time ago. Truth is, he is our dear friend now. Sam and I enjoy having him over, talking to him in that easy way that you do with old friends about his incredibly interesting life. If I had to nearly amputate my finger, I was actually glad to do it in front of him, because he is cool-headed but sympathetic, much like my beautiful, charming, handsome husband. I really was just trying to illustrate the point that I am so very uncool. So very.

Last night, after experiencing my hand being completely numb, my pain threshold being maxed out, nausea, dizziness and hot flashes, I decided that we needed to go to the emergency room. I unbandaged myself and the finger oozed, and was twice the size. It was getting worse not better. I kept thinking of that Elf quote, "My finger has a heartbeat." We dropped Bea off and headed to the hospital. Five hours later, I got a script for an antibiotic, and probably picked up half a dozen viruses from my heavy-breathing emergency room lurkers. I overheard some guy with an ice pack on his head on the phone, "Yeah, Mom thinks it's meningitis. So she made me goto the hospital, dude."

I took a bunch of pictures of my finger. I want to remember what it looks like when you do something stupid. I'm tempted to post one, just to hear the digital ewwwws. I overheard the nurses joking about me.
"What a night."
"Yeah, we even have a lady who stuck her hand in a blender."
"That's gross."

I was okay until they took us back in a little room finally, where we were told to hurry up and wait. The curtain. And the waiting, and the ER smells, and the public health posters became overwhelming in the early hours of morning, and I cried. I looked at Sam, and I said, "I miss her."
"Beatrice?"
"Yes."
"And Lucy?"
"Yes. I miss them both."

That room, the anticipation, took me right back to December. Right back. I wanted to be in bed, moaning, and I missed Lucy, last heard in a room much like the one in which I was sitting. It just became too much. The Murphy's Law of waiting rooms is just when you crack, the doctor walks into the room. So, here I am, with a little bitty finger cut crying, and in walks the lady who takes care of dunderheads.

:::

If you are really interested in having a baby lost weekend (See how I did that?), please send me an email (uberangie (at) gmail (dot) com). I sort of need to get an idea of how many people are interested in a real way for organizing. This retreat would be on the East Coast, most likely outside of Philadelphia (or in), possibly the Jersey shore, on a weekend in October/November. I am SOOOOO excited.

I will try not to talk about my finger anymore, unless they eventually amputate, in which case, I might obsessively talk about that for a while.