Except when she isn't.
People tell me that I am good in a crisis. And, you know what? I actually am. Give me a sudden disaster and I go right into the "zone." Go on...trip over a mislaid harmonica, land on a leprechaun and get a gold piece stuck in your ear. I dare you. I will be able to save you without missing a beat. Perhaps it is the nature of my work (teaching emotionally challenged kids and such) but I am always pretty darned good when the chips are suddenly down.
But the little stuff is what always gets me. Case in point: I didn't get my driver's license until I was 17. In my neck of the woods, that is a bit late. It took me three tries. The first was pretty normal in the failure realm; I don't really remember my error. The second was quite spectacular. I didn't even make it out of the parking lot once the road test began. I sort of hit a state trooper's car while trying to demonstrate my parallel parking skills. Not a police vehicle...the actual private car owned by a state trooper. And it was the property of none other than the lovely gentleman who was administering the test. A fast failure, that one. The third time, I passed with flying colors. I was a virtual paragon of driving skill. After the previous humiliating experience, I was quite thrilled to be told that I was now ready to drive like the other grown-ups. So thrilled was I that I managed to lose all sense of what constitutes a "full and upright" position and fell in the parking lot while running in to tell Mommy Sheep the good news.
It's never the main event that gets me...it's the oft overlooked minor details.
Rarely does tragedy strike in my life. I'm actually pretty lucky that way. I could flip my car on the highway, roll the vehicle any number of times, have the engine burst into flame and then land in a bees nest and still emerge from the smoking wreck unscathed. However, when the disbelieving paramedics insist upon checking my vitals just in case, I can guarantee you that I will trip as I attempt to get into the ambulance, cut my pinky on a loose stretcher bolt and land in a bedraggled pile of now tetanus infected embarrassment. And there is no doubt in my mind that all this will occur in front of the one really cute fireman that came to douse my flaming car. It always does.
Thus, it was a somewhat nervous Sheepie who visited the plastic surgeon today to bid a fond farewell to the Mole Of Disturbing Dimensions. I had no doubt that the actual removal would go smoothly and that this minor procedure would prove to be nothing worse than getting a hangnail clipped. No...what I feared was the potential for the absurd. I know me...I'm prone to it.
Happily, none was seen, though. Despite all my worries about a sudden power outage during the proceeeeedure, an unpredicted nurses strike or (and this one has happened on many an occasion) the inability of the Novocaine to deaden the stubborn nerves, it all went quite smoothly. Well...it would be exaggerating to say that the Novocaine did its job completely, but it wasn't bad. Certainly better than the root canal of '05 that will forever live in infamy and be the basis for comparison for all future pain. There is still some swelling (more than I'd really thought there'd be) and I still don't have full control over the right side of the face, but it's all gone remarkably smoothly and the MODD is currently on its way to the lab where it can make new friends in the pathology department.
I didn't even have time to knit more than two rows of the Comfort Sock. I was in, I was numb, I was bleeding, I was bandaged and then I was home and away from the prying eyes of those who might mock a puffy, lopsided Sheep.
With extra time on my hands and a need to avoid the mirror, I did what any good knitter would do and knit me a sweater back. And a quarter of a sweater front. Somewhere in there I dozed off and lost a stitch, but it was easily located and wrangled back into the fold. And since I am unable to lie down fully for 24 hours I will have some extra knitting time tonight. I never really mastered the art of sleeping for any length of time while sitting up. And since I took tomorrow off just in case the most foolish of things should happen as a result of the de-moling, I guess I'll even have a little extra time with the yarn.
Yeah...there is still time for a rogue stitch to pop or for the phone to ring and a nurse to tell me that there has been a tragic mistake and my spleen was accidentally removed, but I'm feeling pretty optimistic at this juncture! I think I may have made it out of this one without any of the stupid coming my way. Thanks to one and all for the good wishes as I faced this minor procedure with all the courage and dignity of a toddler with boogie man nightmares. I really do appreciate your good thoughts and your patience with my tendency to let Hysterical Mind out of her cage and roam free on these here internets. Some of you actually seem to have a warm spot in your hearts for dear old HM. She seems pretty quiet at the moment, but take heart.
I'm going grocery shopping tomorrow. That rarely is an incident-free experience for me. Fertile ground for a little of the hysteria...
Randomly, on a Wednesday
3 days ago