Pinpricks and Paper Cuts

I don't like coming here just to give updates, I really don't.  But before I can write about other things, I feel like I need to tell you what's going on.  The goings-on are sort of all-consuming at the moment, and also they aren't.  There is plenty of sand filling in around the boulders.  But I have to write about the boulders first.

So, Nolie:  The tests show Nolie is lactose intolerant.  This doesn't explain away the eosonophils in her esophagus, and cutting lactose out of her diet isn't totally eliminating her tummy aches.  But it's one more piece of the puzzle. I will make an appointment this week to take her to see an allergy person (but not a doctor, for now) to see if we can get more pieces.  She feels better for a while, and then she doesn't.  She sleeps through the night five nights in a row, and then is up the next night, ever hour, with stomach aches.  So.  There is always that big old oaf, the specter of what's really "wrong," bumbling around the house, poking me when I'm trying to do other things.  I kick it in the nuts and it goes away for a little while and skulks and I can sort of concentrate but eventually it starts bumbling around again.  Fucker.

And my stupid knee.  Another bumbling oaf, but he usually only visits right as I'm trying to fall asleep. The orthopedist thought for sure I had a torn meniscus or two, gave it an 80% chance.  But there was a 20% chance that it was the other thing, the cartilage abrasions, and sure enough, that's what I got.   Surgery next week, a long, long recovery, cutting out lots of activities that I love doing, probably for life.

Like running.

People are being super-kind and pointing out all the things I'll still get to do, and still I choke up every time I think about the fact that I don't get to run anymore.  I'm choking up now.  I wish it didn't matter, and in the grand scheme of things it really doesn't, I get that, but...still.  It feels a little bit like grief.  I've been reading about some who go back and do run after this surgery, so maybe I don't need to think in such black and white terms.  But it's a big risk, and could lead to more surgeries down the road.  So.  Choices to make.

Immediately, thinking about trying to get around for a few weeks with crutches and not being able to exercise and having to sit a lot just triggers every control-freak nerve in my body.  That's the thing that's keeping me awake at night.  I have students trying to defend their theses, and papers due, and Nolie to get better, and carpools to drive, and trips to take, and there is a good chance that all of that is just going to collapse in on itself.  Because in my mind, I'll take about two weeks to recover and then be hobbling around a bit.

But I guess I'm not 100% in charge of deciding how the recovery is going to go.  There are certainly hidden gifts to be found in all of this.  There are in all the other things happening in my life:  the going gray and curly, the not shopping, the choosing not to be so busy.  All so hard.  All also very good.

E. has been a rock through all of this, a big supportive rock, and thank God we're in a place where the marriage stuff isn't front and center or I might be freaking out.  I mean, more than I already am.

Then there's Emma.  Remember Emma, the disappearing cat?  We had to take her back to the shelter.  She never did come out from under the bed, except to sleep on Nolie at night.  And Nolie happens to be deathly allergic to Emma.  Like, sniffly, hive-y, trouble breathing-y allergic.  So, for Emma's sake and for Nolie's--and I can't really bring myself to make that kid any sicker than she's been for the last year--Emma went back.

It's just us and big, drooling Milo now.  I mean, yeah, he's enough pet for anyone.

Still, it's hard not to feel a little like Swiss cheese at the moment, a little bit full of holes from the things lost lately.  Little things, but pinpricks and paper cuts can suck too.