A good news day

Going to the ophthalmologist can cut the core out of a day. First you wait for the to dilate your eyes; then you wait so long to see the doctor that you’re sure the dilation has expired. Then you see the doctor for five minutes, and you’ve spent two hours in that office, two hours during which you can barely even read. I’ve been doing that once a month for a while now, and it gets frustrating.

But I have to say today was totally worth it! Every second! The vision in the eye that has had surgery is now a respectable 20/50; the swelling is gone; and the doctor practically did a happy dance around the exam room, he was so pleased. He prescribed drops to maintain the recovery; he advised against any investment in good glasses or sunglasses at this point and said to get drugstore reading glasses. And here’s the biggie: I was told beforehand the cornea probably wouldn’t survive the surgery. Today he said it seems to be fine; if there was damage, I wouldn’t have the good vision that I have. I’m doing the happy dance myself.

And in the doctor’s defense, his morning started with an emergency surgery, which threw him behind. Coming from a medical background, I understand that. And he apologized when he came in to the exam room.

But I didn’t get any work done today, not a lick. Jean drove me to the doctor’s office before she headed for an appointment of her own. Jordan said she had a noon meeting; Christian had appointments at 11:30 and 12:30; I had visions of being stuck in the doctor’s office all day—and they wouldn’t have fed me lunch. As it happened, Jean finished her appointment about when I did—noon—and she came and picked me up.

We were hungry, so we went to Carshon’s. A woman Jean knew came up to talk, Jean introduced me, and guess what the woman said: “Judy Alter, the author?” Jean and I both gave hearty thumbs up. Made my day.

But the uncertainty of the morning, the long wait, plus an early wake-up call made me tired, so of course I checked emails, dealt with some busy details, and went to sleep. And woke up just in time to go to happy hour with good friend Subie. We went to a new wine bar at Clearfork we’d been wanting to try—Cru—and enjoyed it thoroughly, lingered over good wine, charcuteries and a salad. We kept glancing at the dessert the people next to us had but restrained ourselves.

So here I am tonight, too tired to dig in and work, but my Protestant work ethic is bothering me. Ah, well, tomorrow is another day.

Happy May Day everyone.

Braces, scrapes and some cooking

B

t’s been a rough two days for Jacob. Yesterday, at the age of almost-eleven, he got braces. I worried, but he was perfectly happy when he came home from the dentist, said it didn’t hurt at all. By last night, his mouth was sore and he requested oatmeal. Tonight, he turned down strawberries, said he couldn’t eat them because they’re too rough.

Today he was playing with friends in the schoolyard across the street, fell, and got a royal scrap across a good section of his thigh. The doctor next door put something on it—antibiotic? Steroid? I don’t know—and wrapped it. Jacob limped, but thought he would recover. I won’t post a picture, because it was fairly bloody.

Meantime I had a cooking day. Spent the morning making southwestern tuna salad—not your usual tuna, this has chilies, cumin, and chili powder. I haven’t made it in years but liked it a lot. Then I made a chocolate Bundt cake for a brunch tomorrow. I had put the ingredients out on the cooking area last night—cake mix and pudding mix—but this morning found the pudding mix still in my pantry drawer. A second look confirmed I had put sardines out with the cake mix—a weird combination. Of course, then nothing would do but that I find a recipe for a sardine spread sort of like the one I remember from years ago and make that for my lunch,

But I did get the cake put together and into a prepared pan. Problem: I have no oven, so had to rely on Jordan to bake it. She was for a while the queen of Bundt cakes, had several recipes she used with great success. But this morning, she sounded vague about how long and what temperature to bake it. So, being a worrier, I worried. First that there was too long a gap between getting the cake made and then getting it into the oven. Then I worried she didn’t understand the crucial nature of letting it cool five minutes—no less, no longer—and taking it out. She assured me this evening it’s perfect.

Friends Subie and Phil came for happy hour before they kindly “carried” me to an engagement party tonight—for the doctors next door. Since we were uncertain about the food to be served, I gave them fruit and the tuna salad I’d made. I don’t eat fresh fruit often and yet when I do I’m overwhelmed by how good it is. That happened tonight, but now I have fruit left in the fridge, so maybe I’ll be good about eating it.

The party, for our neighbors, was at the wine bar down the street. The party room is up a steep flight of stairs that Susan, my neighbor and the hostess, described as climbing Mt. something or other. No way I could have made it, and I think Phil, who has little sight, would have had a hard time. So we sat downstairs and a few of the party came to us.

It turns out there was sumptuous food—lollipop lamb chops, dates stuffed with blue cheese, hummus, and other goodies. I am well fed and content tonight. Ready to go to bed with my book. And I’ve cooked a lot in the past week. May give it up for a while. Then again, there’s that pasta carbonara I may make for my supper tomorrow.

How did I do that?

Enjoying wine and tapas with friends

 

I spent the morning answering that question to doctors, x-ray techs, and all sorts of people. My answer was always, "I haven't a clue." It seems I have broken the fifth metatarsal on my right foot--that's the long bone that leads to my little toe. I noticed Tuesday night that the side of my foot really hurt; the next day I thought I'd bruised it; the next day I thought it really looked funny, and I should check with the doctor's office. They said they wanted to see me right away, so this morning I went to the doctor's office, where they diagnosed a probable broken bone and sent me for x-rays. Off to the x-ray facility, some 20 minutes away. They confirmed the broken bone and sent me back to the doctor's office, where they sent me to the orthopod's office, only they sent me to the wrong one. A snippy young girl informed me I'd have to go to their other office. Of course, I got hopelessly lost, had to call for directions, and ended up driving on a major highway which I avoid if at all possible. The doctor was pleasant--knew my brother--and said, "How did you do this?" He fitted me with an orthopedic shoe for my right foot, which I am to wear for six weeks. Not a fashion statement, and I had just bought such cute snow boots. Actually though the foot feels better in the shoe, and it's not too hard to get around in. But I was gone from 8:45 until 1:00 and was hungry, tired and frustrated when I got home.
As for how I did it, I really don't know. It's entirely possible I bumped into something, stubbed my toe hard, twisted my foot wrong. I am not the world's most graceful person, but I don't remember anything specific that caused me instant pain. I suspect it may be a spontaneous or stress fracture--no, it has nothing to do with emotional stress.
Tonight all the trauma of my morning melted away with an evening with good friends at The Wine Haus--we chatted, drank wine, and ordered tapas. I was extravagant and ordered the lamb chop small plate--so good! Had a lovely time in an informal, lively atmosphere, with a gorgeous Great Dane wandering around.
I'm going on a blog vacation. With the craze for new words--like Icemageddon--I wonder if you'd call it a blogacation. At any rate, I probably won't post again until close to the New Year, unless something burns in my mind and has to be said. I'll have my whole family around me, which makes concentration hard, and I probably need to clear my brain by cooking and reading with grandchildren and doing all that kind of thing. Maybe I'll have fresh new thoughts when I start blogging again--we can all hope.
Meantime, to all of you who follow my blog, I wish you a blessed Christmas and a bountiful new year. I wish I could hug each and every one of you, but please let my very best wishes suffice.