Last week in the woods I looked up to see an eagle my husband had spotted, and went splat. Usually I feel myself tripping and brace myself. This time I didn't. First thing I felt was my face hitting a rock. I heard my nose break. Five stitches, four hours in the ER and stacks of gauze later, I emerged. For days I was so purty, with streaks of purple, yellow and green, festooning my face.
Peril swept beyond me to those I love. My husband, who walks 5 miles a day and maintains a healthy diet, hurt his foot. He was horrified when the doctor diagnosed gout. He wouldn't be surprised if I developed gout, I am apparently more"the sort." Think Ruebens. Turns out it isn't mere gout. The doctor reconsidered and ordered an MRI and blood tests. My husband has taken care of me during long bouts of recovery, so I try to be sunny and helpful.
Added to this ghoulish mix my son's dog Sam. I have come to love Sam, even though last week he took a bag of Cosco Coconut Clusters from the top shelf and ate it all. We nursed Sam through a torn ACL surgery for 3 long months this fall. It was more difficult than nursing a human who had the capacity to reason. This week Sam blew out the other knee.
My husband refers to us as the disabled and disfigured. Apparently, Jeopardy is in the House of Packard.
