The Squire and I went up to Bel Air yesterday for yet another injection in my back. Generally, I can drive myself up and hop in the car to go home, but the last two trips I’ve had to have an escort. This trip did seem to be a bit more involved than the last few, and I had more trouble walking than I anticipated. My leg felt fine on the outside, but when I got up to walk across the recovery room, my muscles were numb on the inside, and I moved like a person with an ill-fitting prosthesis. I had intended to swing by Joann’s and select a pattern to make our great-granddaughter a spring dress, but The Squire put the kibosh to that, and insisted we go straight home.
Just as well. He helped me up the stairs, fixed me an ice bag, and I slept for two hours.
I was showing my doctor my thumb, and told him I had regretted ever having it done. He admitted “it’s a tough one”, and referred to it as Game Keeper’s Thumb. Apparently, back in jolly ol’ when the Laird shot a mess of pheasant, it was the Game Keeper’s job to go collect them all and wring the necks of the birds that were still alive. (Not exactly a Game “Keeper” in my opinion, but who am I to argue?) He would grab the bird’s neck with both hands and turn in opposite directions. Eventually, the twisting motion would dislocate one thumb or the other, and the poor guy would be out of a job. I guess he could feed the chickens or something. The Squire said he just grabbed the chicken by the head and swung it around a couple of times.
I am almost down to the bottom of tub #2, and once this is empty I’ll take a break for a while, and maybe work on a dollhouse. I have one that desperately needs to be finished up, and is very close, except for a bloody thatched roof. At least I can get The Squire to help me with that; sorting photos was strictly a solo performance.
thisendoftheswamp 