In which the Lady spazzes out unnecessarily, and rocks are moved from one spot to another
So I went to make lunch yesterday - sliced cheese and apples for the boy, a salad for me - when I felt a deep, aching pain in my left arm. I whimpered like a little girl, gently explored the offending appendage, and discovered a hard, egg-shaped lump.
"What the bleep is that?" I cried. I'm clumsy, and I often bang into things, but I hadn't banged the arm recently so far as I knew. The arm certainly wasn't hurting when I woke up, and it was definitely hurting now - a lot. And though I might be imagining that the pain was spreading, I wasn't imagining the lump itself.
This was the thing that freaked me out because, (little known fact?) I have a morbid fear of blot clots. Insidious, freaky, from the "shit that can go wrong for no apparent reason and without warning" files of the human body. Sometimes when they happen, they're obvious, sometimes there's no symptom at all, and sometimes they're subtle, so people don't always realize something's wrong. That's what freaks me out, I think. That you could be walking around with a time-bomb and shrug it off, thinking maybe you bumped into a wall and didn't realize it.
See? Morbid.
I summoned the God-King (who was home for lunch), expecting him to say something calmingly dismissive, but after palpating my bump (heh) for a time, he gave me a worried look and was like, "you... should maybe get that looked at." He was thinking "fracture" (it being painful along the bone) - nothing so dramatic as a thrombosis - but as the general consensus in the household was "hmmm", I went to the doctor.
An x-ray later, we now know everything is normal, the general consensus now being that I strained the arm doing yardwork over the weekend and then strained the muscles in some way that morning so as to remind them that they should cause me pain. I suspect it has something to do with forty minutes of playing THIS on the playstation:
But anyway. After that lengthy and pointless story (pointless except to tell you my arm still hurts, ow), here's a picture of my yard, which is now 3/4 cleared of rock.
Progress. Huzzah.
That stump is next on our hit list. This time next year I WILL have grass. And landscaping. And features. Mark my words.
"What the bleep is that?" I cried. I'm clumsy, and I often bang into things, but I hadn't banged the arm recently so far as I knew. The arm certainly wasn't hurting when I woke up, and it was definitely hurting now - a lot. And though I might be imagining that the pain was spreading, I wasn't imagining the lump itself.
This was the thing that freaked me out because, (little known fact?) I have a morbid fear of blot clots. Insidious, freaky, from the "shit that can go wrong for no apparent reason and without warning" files of the human body. Sometimes when they happen, they're obvious, sometimes there's no symptom at all, and sometimes they're subtle, so people don't always realize something's wrong. That's what freaks me out, I think. That you could be walking around with a time-bomb and shrug it off, thinking maybe you bumped into a wall and didn't realize it.
See? Morbid.
I summoned the God-King (who was home for lunch), expecting him to say something calmingly dismissive, but after palpating my bump (heh) for a time, he gave me a worried look and was like, "you... should maybe get that looked at." He was thinking "fracture" (it being painful along the bone) - nothing so dramatic as a thrombosis - but as the general consensus in the household was "hmmm", I went to the doctor.
An x-ray later, we now know everything is normal, the general consensus now being that I strained the arm doing yardwork over the weekend and then strained the muscles in some way that morning so as to remind them that they should cause me pain. I suspect it has something to do with forty minutes of playing THIS on the playstation:
But anyway. After that lengthy and pointless story (pointless except to tell you my arm still hurts, ow), here's a picture of my yard, which is now 3/4 cleared of rock.
Progress. Huzzah.
That stump is next on our hit list. This time next year I WILL have grass. And landscaping. And features. Mark my words.