Not in the clamor of the crowded street, not in the shouts and plaudits of the throng, but in ourselves, are triumph and defeat.--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
REDIRECT ALERT! (Scroll down past this mess if you're trying to read an archived post. Thanks. No, really, thanks.)
Due to my inability to control my temper and complacently accept continued silliness with not-quite-as-reliable-as-it-ought-to-be Blogger/Blogspot, your beloved Possumblog will now waddle across the Information Dirt Road and park its prehensile tail at http://possumblog.mu.nu.
This site will remain in place as a backup in case Munuvia gets hit by a bus or something, but I don't think they have as much trouble with this as some places do. ::cough::blogspot::cough:: So click here and adjust your links. I apologize for the inconvenience, but it's one of those things.
Monday, December 13, 2004
NEXT, “Well, whaddya know!”
The doctor came in and first, quickly assured Ashley that she did NOT have an inflamed appendix. However, they did find she had a functional ovarian cyst. So, the pain she had been having was real, and in fact, probably had been somewhat intense on occasions. I had the doctor go over the bloodwork with us, just to find out everything, and it all came back perfectly normal. So, basically, 600mg of Motrin, and allow it to resolve itself. (With the normal caution of possible complications we needed to be aware of.)
After we thanked her and she had gone to get some Motrin, Reba and I gave a bit of a sigh and asked Oldest if she was ready to go home now. She said she guessed so, and then a thought occurred to me--“Ashley, do you know what a cyst is?”
Well, of course not. So we explained it a bit to her--Reba used to have them when she was younger--and after THAT bit of information, she was equally ready to go home. Actually, she was ready to eat. She had said she couldn’t eat anything earlier in the day (aside from the YooHoo and potato chips at my office) because it hurt so bad to chew.
Well, after she found out the source of her discomfort wasn’t connected to her gut, her ability to chew came back in full force. We got her medicine and checked out, then proceeded to drive up the block to Taco Bell.
::sigh:: I wasn’t about to deny her whatever she wanted to eat, even if it meant the certainty of having to make a run for the outhouse later. Three soft tacos for her, a Fajita Grilled Stuft Burrito for Mom, and despite my better judgment, I got myself a burrito supreme and a soft taco.
I might have said this before, but eating after about 8 at night isn’t kind to my system. Eating after midnight is worse. Eating Taco Bell after midnight, on an evening spent going through much emotional rigor, is possibly the worst thing to do. Talk about distress!
Oldest, on the other hand, slept quite soundly the rest of the night, and woke up refreshed and ready to go shopping on Saturday.
(Actually, next is going to lunch for me--I am hungry, despite having just recited a sickening description of a meal from Taco Bell. Eww.)
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