again

and again.... it is Monday, the last day of a four day weekend. Itook friday off, and half of thursday to be honest, to finally haul our little trailer to the coast for a long, relaxing stay. As we pulled out of Yamhill toward Carlton, it began to sprinkle. We didn't care. We have a trailer. I was desperately in need of a non-surgical time away from work. We reserved spots at Beverly Beach and landed right in the middle of a beautiful sunny day. We got set up, drove to Newport to check out the crabbing scene, and returned for a dinner of boiled hot dogs. Fire ban and all still in place, the entire northwest going up in flames. Then, as luck would have it, I was uncomfortable in the middle of the night, twisted just so and POP goes the tit. I just started crying, sat up, and Kurt tried to help me settle down. We performed frontier medicine with paper towels and ditch water -- not really, Annie -- but it wasn't under prime conditions  at 3:03 in the a.m. that he told me it wasn't nearly as bad as last time. Dehyssed. Shit. This time, it was only about an inch long, and not through all of the layers. My surgeon stitched many layers in the hopes it would seal.

Not so much. She was distressed, my surgeon, when I called her from the ER later the next/same morning... So much for the non-surgical weekend. I just kept camping. Screw it. It was too beautiful to leave. Three gorgeous days, whales spouting everywhere, sixteen crab. Garlic butter. Yep. Tasty.

So, now showing signs of infection, I'll see the doc day after tomorrow.