Monday, February 26, 2007

Perhaps it IS enough to "just relax"

(Tuesday Challenge: Ink)

I went to the orthopedic surgeon today, and my arm isn't fractured after all!

Of course, it still hurts unbelievably. But he's assured me that it really will get better, and in the meantime he's prescribed better pain pills.

Saturday, February 24, 2007

Just relax, and you'll feel better.

Six years ago, my oldest daughter fell off a riding toy and came into the house crying. My mother and I were busy working on the computer, so I told my daughter to relax, and it would feel better. As it turned out, her arm was fractured and she wore a cast for 5 weeks.

Three years ago, I had a call from the school nurse. My son was playing tackle football during field day, and had ended up in her office with a sore arm. Relax, she told me, he was just making it feel worse than it was. As it turned out, he had fractured his arm and he wore a cast for almost two months.

Last year, my youngest fell while roller skating on a band trip. The chaperones told her to relax, and it would feel better. Needless to say, her arm turned out to be fractured.

In case you're wondering where all this is going, let me point out that the common theme is that relaxing does not immediately cure a fractured arm. In fact, I have just learned first hand not only doesn't relaxing make the pain of a fractured arm go away, it isn't even POSSIBLE to relax with a fractured arm.

I have to make an appointment Monday morning to see the orthopedic surgeon.

Tuesday, February 13, 2007

If I had only known, I would have been a locksmith. (Albert Einstein)

It's midnight, and I'm trying to figure out what to do next. I can't go to bed, because I've locked myself out of my bedroom.

I have no idea how it happened. This morning, when I was leaving for work, I shut my bedroom door as I have every morning since we moved into the townhouse. When I got home from work, the door wouldn't open. I must have turned the lock somehow as I grabbed the doorknob to pull it closed. Unfortunately, we don't have the key to the door. Neither does the landlord.

My first response was to try to pick the lock. But it's not as easy as it looks on TV. Despite the many books I've read in which the heroine quickly gains access with either a bobby pin or a credit card, I was unable to get the door open.

So then I tried calling a locksmith. They wanted $75 for an emergency (aka evening) call. I decided it was worth it. They told me they could be here in half an hour. One and a half hours later, I called them again. "The guy's on his way, and should be there any minute," they informed me. So I (im)patiently waited another hour and a half, then called again. This time I got a different story: "The guy tried to phone you right after you called (the first time), but since there wasn't any answer we canceled the trip." I hadn't gotten any phone calls from them (and in fact, they had written my phone number down wrong), but it didn't matter. Bottom line is, they're not coming here tonight.

So I guess I'm going to be sleeping on the guest bed tonight, in my clothes. Luckily there is a pair of jeans and a t-shirt in the dryer, so I'll have something to wear to work tomorrow. I won't have clean underwear or any make-up, but maybe no one will notice. (And to think that I was hoping to make a good impression on the state auditor that's coming in to monitor us tomorrow!)

Maybe tomorrow, in the daylight, I'll be able to find a locksmith that is actually willing to come out and open my door for me.