Turning the Corner

There's a point in most any illness where you feel the change take place. The day before, you may be sort of wondering, am I starting to get better? - but you're not quite sure.

The next day you wake up and you know.

The fever's broken. It still creeps in here and there, but it's not knocking me off my feet any more. The wound is still draining, but it's also closing, from the inside. The safe way. The infected area is smaller, by far; it's pulling together into a localized infection instead of all spread out through the hand and fingers. The feelings in that hand have changed: the intense bone pain has lessened significantly, and the general tenderness and redness and swelling is down.

I stayed out of bed the entire day today, even worked around the house and outside some too. Grilled half of a ribeye, ate a small head of broccoli, a half an ear of corn, a caramelized onion, and a little red potato. Except for Lotus Chinese Kitchen, I can't remember the last time I ate any *real* food. And it seems to be staying down just fine.

Last Friday evening, after trying so hard for two days to see a hand surgeon, I called Walter and said: --There's nothing left to do. I'm out of options. On Monday I can try a couple back, but for now, there's absolutely nothing I can do except keep taking care of it myself. So I'm going to devote the weekend to staying calm and not thinking about it, maybe working my butt off in the yard if I can.

He agreed.

Another thing I decided to do was dispose of the poor, blown-engine Saturn.

Our excellent ex-neighbors, former employees, and friends, H and Danny, love cars. They feel about cars the same way I do about plants and animals. And they've been wonderful to us over the years. I sat on the front porch looking at the Saturn and thinking about H's face when I told him I was just going to junk it, that I didn't have it in me to mess around with getting a new used engine for it, cleaning it up, and selling it.

His face fell. He almost looked like he was going to cry. Oh no!!!

He looked, to me, exactly the same way I feel when I see people throwing away big beautiful plants that could very easily live. I do plant rescues. He wanted to rescue that car. He just lent us $7800, unasked, to buy the Isuzu. Part of what made him decide to do that, I think, was simply because it was a car, a very nice one at a very good price, just right for me. And I was without a car. This bothered him. A lot.

They have five cars between them, the father and son. That's why they park two over at our house. They live a block from the ocean, and their parking is limited - they just can't fit all their vehicles there. I certainly don't mind the extra cars; it makes it look like a bunch of burly Car Guys live here.

I didn't even want to go to the trouble of junking the poor thing. I just don't do cars.

So I asked H if I could give him the Saturn. I wasn't sure he wanted it.

But he did. So I signed the title over to him. The only thing I like about cars is that paperwork ceremony, that's fun, all solemn and significant. I told H I hoped he made a gazillion bucks on it, making it all nice again and finding it a good home.

OH, what a happy time! It was just great.

And I spent the weekend making serious progress clearing the yard. Early Monday morning I called to make the appointment with that hand surgeon - then I shattered, and was more or less not conscious again until Wednesday.

I didn't even have the strength to make my espresso. If you've been sick like that with a very bad flu or pneumonia or strep or so forth, you know what I mean. You hurt from head to toe, headachy and feverish and doing the sweats and chills, throwing off the covers then piling them back on, then pouring sweat and kicking them back off again, sleeping all the time but never feeling rested, and wondering what day it is and if that clock means 8 AM or 8 PM...

I love feeling better.