Unbreak my leg

I have been healed. Made whole. Reborn. Well ... maybe not that so much, but ...

The orthopedic surgeon said what was broken has now been made whole. And the orthopedic surgeon said "Arise and walk". And yea, I arose. And took those first steps. And would have fallen flat on my face had my husband and three nurses not rushed to my side to provide support.

And the nurses saw that it was not good. And the nurses handed me the crutches and provided the updated demonstration on their proper usage. And I walked out of the hospital. With grace and dignity. Sort of.

But at least I did not fall down. And it was good.

**********

The knee is substantially healed, and I am allowed to weight bear once more. But the knee buckles when I walk, so I still have to use the crutches to provide some stability. Soon, I will be able to downgrade to a cane. And then, I will be able to walk unassisted. If they don't have to open the knee back up in another six weeks or so to remove some of the glue and hardware that has become problematic and has resulted in a swollen lump on the side of the knee which impedes its movement.

For now, I work on learning to walk again. And I work on catching up on school. And I am tired and grumpy, so I work on my attitude too.

These are the things that need work.
This list is subject to change without notice.

What's the name of the game?

The van driving down the road. The "Mamma Mia" soundtrack playing merrily in the CD player. Meryl Streep asking earnestly "What's the name of the game"?

Grumpy J: (forcefully) I don't want to tell you!
H: Don't want to tell me what?
Grumpy J: I don't want to tell her the name of the game!

Too bad, Meryl. Now, you will never know.

On a somewhat if not entirely unrelated note, an x-ray was performed today, which is good. I got to see the break and the positioning of the screws. No wonder it hurts so bad! (I mention this because it was how I came to be out in the van tonight ... I've been mostly housebound since getting out of hospital. But I did go out yesterday. To get the staples removed. Didn't hurt as much as I'd expected. Good.)

I was curious about the positioning of the screws. I couldn't get a visual on it. So I was googling "tibial plateau fracture" and looking for images. I hoped to find some x-rays, CT scans, drawings ... that sort of thing. It's interesting stuff. To me. Since I have the particular injury. I expect someone without a tibial plateau fracture would find it less than enjoyable.

More interesting and even less enjoyable, however, is the kind of thing other people think we all want to look at on the Internet. Like the close-up photos of some guy's infected surgical site, labelled "changing the dressing", which someone so thoughtfully posted on Flickr. (You will notice that I did not link to these photos. That's why you love me. And you're welcome.)

So ... what kinds of awful have you found on the Internet?

Where the hell are you when I need you?

It's okay that the floors are a bit dusty. That is why we have a vacuum. It's a central vac system, actually. No big bulky cannister to drag around. Just plug the hose into the wall and away you go. My parents have one of these. Took me years before I realized the cannister was in the basement next to the furnace and the dirt traveled through pipes in the wall. When they first got the central vac system, I thought there was no cannister. I thought the dirt was just magically blown out of the house. But now, with mom's-hindsight, I see that was completely illogical. Those marbles and dried up balls of play-doh I routinely vacuum up would have become projectile missiles, launching from the side of our house, and passersby would have been severely injured. There would then have been a bunch of lawsuits against reckless homeowners who were so stupid as to install central vac systems. That wouldn't make a lot of sense. The basement cannister is a much better idea. That's why I am not an inventor. My ideas are too rough and don't work on a practical level.

So our floors are dusty. So what? H will haul out the vacuum later, and the floors will soon be clean. We have wood and lino flooring, and vacuuming only takes a few minutes. As long as you keep up on it. When you don't, then it takes much longer. Fur, kitty litter, and crumbled Cheerios cover all available surfaces and get in all of the grooves. And then, of course, there are the marbles and dried up balls of play-doh. J loves play-doh and is at his happiest when an adult will shape tiny pieces of the stuff into little balls. They have to be pea sized, perfectly round, and have no cracks. If they are not perfect, he will give them back and demand that we do it better. He lets these little balls of goo dry out, and then he carries them around with him as if they were the crown jewels. Until he eventually loses interest, abandons them, and then insists we make him a new batch. Decrepit abandoned play-doh balls are all over this house. He keeps them in cupboards and drawers, in his tiger backpack, and in his pockets. We have to make sure to empty J's pockets before we do a load of laundry. Otherwise, we end up washing a bunch of multi-coloured little balls of play-doh. And that's just not pretty at all once the load's gone through the dryer and everything.

So yeah. The floors. They can get bad. But they're not bad right now. Just kind of dusty. A quick 5-minute job oughta take care of it. You see, that is why we have a vacuum. It took way longer to clean with a broom and dustpan. And then, we ended up just sort of shifting the cat fur around. See, you can't really sweep up cat fur. It's too light. The tufts just fly up in the air, and then they land elsewhere, and no matter how much you sweep, you just kind of move the fur from one spot to another and you never actually get rid of any of it. I don't know why we even own a broom, really. The vacuum works so much better, and it's way easier. And if there's anything on the floor that's too large for the vacuum, then it can just be picked up by hand and put in the trash. Really, the broom is pretty useless, when you think about it. Though it would have been handy before the vacuum was invented, I suppose. I mean, it's probably better to use the broom than to do nothing at all. Right?

Anyway, we have a good vacuum. And I love the vacuum. And H loves the vacuum. In fact, this morning, H told me not to worry about the floors at all. H told me that he would vacuum. H told me that the vacuum is a wonderful tool, good for many things.

Well ... it's good for vacuuming obviously. But I haven't found it to be quite as good for dishes. I can't honestly remember the vacuum ever doing a half decent job washing the dishes. It also doesn't clear the expired food out of the refrigerator. And it can't follow a grocery list at all, so you just can't send it shopping and expect to get back anything like what you asked for. It's memory frankly sucks (haha). It refuses to do bathroom fixtures. It can't get that streak-free shine on the windows. And it's completely useless for laundry. It just forgets. It forgets everything! In fact, if the vacuum were better at laundry, I would not have had to try and do it myself, and I would not currently be laid up with a broken knee from my bizarre laundry accident.

So really, it's all the vacuum's fault, if you think about it.

Stupid vacuum.

Where the hell are you when I need you? Off getting yourself a snack? Watching soap operas? Having a nap? What am I paying you for anyway? Oh ... right ... well, I bought you, didn't I? That makes you my indentured servant! And you should do what I need you to do when I need you to do it! And if you'd only gotten off your lazy butt and done the laundry that one fateful day ... fine, lazy hose then ... I don't believe for a minute that you "forgot"! It was laziness, pure and simple!

You're fired!!

Of course, when I expressed these thoughts to H, he just kind of rolled his eyes at me and told me that when he said the vacuum was good for "many things", he meant it was good for cleaning all kinds of flooring surfaces, upholstery, and blinds, and even for light dusting if you use the special duster attachment. So ... yeah.

Men!

**********

The above insane ramblings are my own fault. I haven't taken any Percocet today, so I can't even blame my crazy on the narcotics.

Every time you shift your weight, you take a piece of knee with you

First, let me just say:

HOLY MOTHER OF GOD DOES THIS EVER FLIPPIN' HURT!!! PLEASE MAKE IT STOP!!!!!

I'm being as delicate as possible with the broken knee. But it still gets jostled. People in the house bump it. Sometimes, my own movements cause great pain. And whenever I need to change or feed N, it's excruciating. Somehow, that baby has the ability to put all of his weight on my lower left thigh and push down toward the break. I try to adjust him, but he's apparently quite determined.

At least I'm down to two Percocet a day now. I only take them at night. Just 'cause they last longer than Tylenol, so I don't awake in the wee small hours in agony. But the rest of the day, I get by with the Tylenol. That's pretty good, I'd say. The Tylenol doesn't make me as sleepy, and it has never caused a hallucination. Plus it's safe for nursing. So that's always nice.

It has been two weeks since the surgery. I hope the pain will start to subside soon. But thus far, it's generally around a 7 or 8 out of 10. If it's not jostled at all, it sometimes gets down to a 5. But that kind of thing is always short-lived. 'Cause someone's got to bang into it. H has walked into it (rarely). J loves to cuddle, and he actually kicks it (frequently). Of course, N likes to lie on it (almost constantly). And even I sometimes jostle it and get myself in a heap of trouble (more than you'd think - I'm a total klutz).

It's still swollen, though that seems to be going down. It's still reluctant to bend, though that seems to be improving ever so slowly. I can get it to almost a 45 degree angle now, but it is very uncomfortable to do so. I wonder how much physio will be required and when I might expect to be able to bend it properly. The doctors have said it will never be the same again, so part of me wonders if I will ever again be able to bend it properly. I try to banish those thoughts, but they are there. Oh, I dearly hope it will bend properly at some point!

I'm worried about the physio. I'm worried about recovery. I'm concerned that it still hurts so much two weeks post-op. And of course, I'm terribly annoyed with myself. I had just recently gotten off bed rest, and now I'm restricted once more just because I'm clumsy. Hardly seems fair. There are worse sins than clumsiness, aren't there? Ok, fine; I'm really clumsy. But still!!

Anyway, the Percocet is starting to kick in, and I'd best stop typing before something odd happens. Like what, you ask? Well obviously, like my being sucked into the computer, or turning into a giant robin, or some such thing. 'Cause Percocet can be like that. Or not. It's wildly unpredictable stuff, I've found. At least the knee doesn't hurt as badly when I'm flying around the neighbourhood.

Tweet, tweet!

Year of the cat rat broken bone

It all started when Paul broke his ankle over the winter. He broke it badly. Needed surgery to set the break. What was Paul doing? Taking his two kids to school in a little wagon he was pulling. Slipped on the ice, and that was it for Paul. Surgery, crutches, walking cast, and physio. He experienced massive amounts of pain for a terribly long time. And it took a number of months, but Paul has recovered well. (His juggling routines took a temporary hit, however. But he's getting back in form again.)

Next came Lee. Lee also broke his ankle in winter. Not as badly as did Paul, but it was a break nonetheless. Both Lee and Paul were in casts at the same time. They were practically twins, since they'd both broken the same ankle. (The real tragedy, of course, was that this meant we couldn't tie their bad legs together to make one full person with two good legs.) Lee went outside briefly one day and slipped on his concrete steps. His ankle was set with a regular cast, and in six weeks the cast came off. He was in considerable pain for a period of time while he waited for the break to heal. Now, Lee is good as new. But until he healed up, his wife was on her own with an (almost) 2-year old and a new baby in the house. (And she had fun, fun, fun 'til the mental health professionals took her away. But she's all better now.)

Next was me. With a broken knee. (Tiddle dee dee.) The hospital chart reads "tripped over the cat", but we all know what really happened, don't we? I stand by my assertion that she tried to kill me. (According to the Chinese horoscope, 2008 is the year of the rat. Well, the stupid cat has lost more weight lately, and her fur lacks lustre. And now she kind of looks like a rat, so I guess someone got temporarily confused.) The pain is intense, and the Percocet continues to be good to me at night. We've been successful thus far in working out childcare arrangements for J. But for the sake of N, I've downgraded to Extra Strength Tylenol during the day so I don't lose consciousness when I'm alone with him, and also so I don't disrupt his feeding routine too much. This means I hurt a lot during the day. But I cope. I trust it will heal in time. (Until then, I hope for better hallucinations.)

And now, on to my friend Carolyn. (Update your blog, woman! What's wrong with you?) Carolyn broke her ankle today. She was working on some landscaping, took a step off her deck, and just kind of landed funny on the concrete slab. She has three children to care for, and her business plans have experienced a temporary setback. But fortunately, hers is a straightforward break. She's in a regular cast right now, and will get a walking cast in a few weeks. She has some Tylenol 1's at her disposal, but hasn't really needed them. And she says it only hurts when someone bangs it. (At my request, H is heading over there with a hammer. 'Cause, why should she be spared?)

So what I'm saying is this: If you have kids, you'd better watch your step. And please, folks, try not to break any bones. It's not nearly as much fun as I've made it sound.

Things you never thought you'd hear yourself say

"Just wait 'til Mommy puts away her walker."

I don't use the crutches around the house. I'm much more stable on the walker. So we prefer that I use it and stay safe. Even if it does make me feel really old. At least I'm not falling down and breaking the other knee. Gotta count for something, right?

Right?

Hello?

But the damned cat came back

Fuel pump. Leg brace. Both wonderful things, but hardly interchangeable.

About the same price. But hardly interchangeable.

**********

You'll recall from my last post that I hurt my knee when I fell down the stairs. The cat was lying on the top step, and I tripped and fell. I am quite certain that she was trying to kill me.

What I had failed to mention in that last post was that she had earlier tried to kill H. Two hours before my fall, H had nearly tripped over her. She was sitting on that same blasted top step. H removed her. But apparently, she just wouldn't stay away.

Now, our poor old household has troubles of its own, beyond the little cat that pees throughout our home.

**********

We had to get the fuel pump in our car replaced last week. The car died at a 7-11. Expensive repair jobs suck. But it's just a car.

Damage to a person is a lot worse than damage to a car.

My leg is in fact broken. It's a tibial plateau fracture, which is right in the middle of the knee joint. And it required surgery to fix. Two screws are permanently holding my knee joint together. The break caused disruption of blood flow to the cartilage, complicating the injury. I will likely require knee replacement surgery in fifteen to twenty years. The doctors say that the knee will never be the same. It will be stiff and develop arthritis. For the moment, there is no range of motion. In other words, it doesn't bend. Plus, it hurts like the devil!!

It required a special type of brace. And I couldn't be released from hospital until I'd passed physio, by demonstrating that I could crutch-walk up the stairs. I couldn't do that until I'd gotten the brace. The brace allows 50% weight on the left. But without it, I'm not permitted to weight-bear on the left at all.

The brace came in today, and I finally got to come home. I've been in hospital since last Friday, so it's been nearly a full week now. Scans, surgery, medication, and physio. In another five weeks, I'll be re-assessed, and we'll see how much more physio I need. Range of motion will likely continue to be a concern, and hopefully physio will be able to improve this significantly.

I'm exhausted. The medication is tiring, as are the crutches. Can't care for the kids, so we're trying to find a solution to that problem. Our stairs are too steep for me to manage with crutches, so we have to adapt to me living exclulsively on the main floor until I can weight-bear again. And some of the medication passes in breast milk, so I have to time N's feedings around my dosing schedule. The doctors indicate that the medication isn't dangerous to N, but it will make him rather sleepy. But I still prefer not to give my baby narcotics. It's just my preference as a mother, I suppose. Anyway, this is all somewhat problematic.

On a bright note, the crutches provide quite the intense workout.

I want to believe

I want to believe in many things. That bad situations are temporary. That my parents will all live for many more years. That the cat's renal failure is reversible. That the kids will never get bigger or grow up, though they will be potty trained at some point. That the laundry will wash itself.

Some of these things are believable. Most are not.

Presently, I want to believe that my leg is not broken.

I fell down the stairs this morning. Carrying laundry to the wash in preparation for a trip to see my birth mother, who is suffering from pancreatic cancer, I tripped over the cat who was lying on the top step. A very grown up J brought me the phone and helped me to hop down the stairs after I'd called for assistance. I can't weight bear on my left side, and my left foot is numb. I heard the knee pop when I fell. It's excruciating, but I don't want J to see me cry, so I'm sitting at my laptop, trying to pretend it doesn't hurt that much.

More when I return from the hospital.

Love will keep us together

My son is gifted. I know all parents think that, but in this case, it's really true.

Today, J decided to pretend to be a piggy. He advised me that he was a "little piggy". I didn't get it, but I played along. J pretends to be lots of things; this was not unusual. So I needed to refer to him as "Piggy". Fine. I can do that.

And then, quite unexpectedly, he asked me this:

J: Why do you keep knocking things down?

Again, I didn't get it. What was he talking about?

T: I don't know what you're talking about.
J: Houses. Why do you keep knocking houses down?

At last I got it! J was a Little Pig, and I was to play the part of the Big Bad Wolf. Ok. I get it. I'll play along.

T: Blowing houses down?
J: Yes. Why do you do it?
T: Because I am a wolf, and it is what I do.
J: But it's naughty! You really shouldn't blow houses down.
T: It's naughty?
J: Yes! That's bad! Please don't do it anymore?
T: Oh. Ok. Well, now that I know it's naughty, I won't do it anymore.

My Little Pig was happy with this. And to show his appreciation, he invited the Big Bad Wolf to his house. They sat down together and enjoyed tea and cake, and much merriment ensued. They taught one another to howl and oink, and they played with many toys.

And everything became clear. So many of life's little problems come from poor communication and misunderstanding. How easy it would be if we could all just sit down together and have tea and cake. And my little boy is so very gifted that he can make that happen. Just like that.

What an amazing child I have. Yes indeedy. He likes it when people get along. He likes it when everyone is nice to each other. It makes him unhappy when people fight. We should all be nice to each other. Be good, and never naughty. And he cares so deeply about all of this that you just know he's going to do great things. Maybe he'll be a psychiatrist. A marriage and relationship counselor. But whatever he chooses, he'll help make the world a better place. Yes, he will. Because at the end of the day, all you need is love. And love - love will keep us together.

And just as all of this was occurring to me, my reverie was broken. Quite unceremoniously shattered, in fact.

J: Look! That's a nice ant. A very nice ant, for me to step on. I squish him!

Maybe ... not ...

Evening Oddities

Wandered into an HMV tonight. Looked at the discount movie rack. This little exchange resulted.

T: So I see that "Footloose" is $15, but if I buy "Footloose" and "Flashdance" together, I get both movies for $10. What's that about? You can't give "Flashdance" away? You have to pay me to take it?

Record Store Guys: Yeah. We'll give you a deal on "Footloose" if you just pleeeeeeez take "Flashdance" too?

T: Yeah. See, five bucks ain't enough.

**********

J still doesn't eat enough. But he does enjoy certain junk foods ... chips, chocolate, hotdogs, donuts ... that kind of thing. He doesn't eat much of these foods either. At least empty calories can't really hurt him at this stage. All caloric intake is kinda good at this point. Whatever.

J: Panda wants a donut. And I want a donut too!
H: Ok. We'll get you a donut soon.

(A short while later)

J: Can we go to McDonald's?
H: I thought you wanted a donut.
J: (incredulously) A donut?!
H: Yes. Don't you want a donut anymore?
J: No. Can we go to McDonald's?
H: Well, I suppose ...
J: (singing) I want a donut. I want a donut. I want a donut, at McDonald's.

Awesome.

A natural beauty

T walks through the mall, past the kiosks. Young lady at cosmetics counter walks up to T and inquires: "Are you wearing make-up, or are you just a natural beauty?"

T is cautious. While not an ugly duckling, T is also not exceptionally beautiful. Particularly not at her current weight. Young lady is clearly trying to sell her something.

T replies: "I don't really wear make-up". And T then attempts a polite get-away. Young lady subtlely blocks T's path.

Young lady continues her pitch: "Well then, can I show you something?" She attempts to get T closer to kiosk.

Clearly, she thinks that she can get T to go over and sit in the kiosk's makeover chair. Clearly, she thinks that T can be persuaded to purchase make-up. Clearly, she is on commission.

Clearly, she is incorrect. Her powers of observation have failed her. She is looking at T's face, but she is not looking anywhere else. She does not know her audience.

T stands before her, holding the hand of a 3-year old who really wants to show T all of the wonders that he has seen in the mall. The happy and sad lady. The whale. The whale's tale. The fountains. And the games. Oooooh, the games. T's son is pulling on her hand. "Mommy, come!" he says forcefully, while mere inches away T's husband stands, slowly pushing an infant in a baby stroller.

T does not really wear make-up. It is not because she is a "natural beauty". She is simply too tired and busy to worry about make-up. So she does not wear it. T is a wife, mom, student, employee ... T wears a lot of hats and has to conserve time wherever possible. T has a clear complexion, and she doesn't really need a lot of make-up. So no make-up equals good time savings. It just makes sense.

But even if T wore make-up. Even if T loved make-up. Even if T had all the time in the world, and a poor complexion, and really needed to know how to apply make-up. Even if T really wanted to sit in young lady's kiosk chair and learn all the wonders that are proper make-up application. Even then. T is with her family. And she is obviously watching over a young child who may wander off if she takes her eyes off of him.

In short, T is busy with tasks far more important than learning all about make-up application, and there is nothing that young lady can do to change any of it.

T has neither the time nor the ability to sit in young lady's kiosk chair and accept a makeover at this point in time. And young lady really should have observed that.

T politely excuses herself and continues to walk with her family. And T's husband tells her that she does not need make-up anyway, since she is indeed a natural beauty.

T loves her husband, because he sincerely believes what he has said. He loves T. And he is not on commission.

Baby Update

Saw the ob today. Baby is doing well. I'm at the same weight I was two weeks ago, but Baby is still growing, and is bigger than J was. I am to expect a tougher delivery, as Baby will be larger.

Baby is sitting very, very low. Causing me considerable pain and discomfort. But Baby is nice and healthy, and I can cope.

I am just past the 36 week mark now, so things are looking good. I am permitted a slight increase in activity. Slight ... don't go running any marathons ... but I can get up off the couch a bit more. And we can go to our first-choice hospital!

I see the doctor once a week now.

J is really getting excited about the new baby. One day recently, he told me that he had a baby in his tummy. That would be a neat trick. He is quite possessive of his new sibling-to-be. He insists that the baby is his, which is pretty cute. "Yes", we tell him, "that's your baby brother/sister".

Yesterday, when J was at the hospital, H told the med student that I was pregnant and on bed rest.

Doc: (to J) Oh! Is mommy going to have a baby?
J: No! I am! My baby!
Doc: (to H) Do you know if it's a boy or a girl?
J: A boy!!

I think J will be a good little helper with "his" new baby!

Imitation ... not necessarily flattering

I get horrible acid reflux in the latter part of pregnancy. It gets really bad at night. We are generally able to combat it with copious amounts of milk. So H has learned through both of my pregnancies that, when I say "Can I have a glass of milk in a big hurry", there is a limited amount of time. He runs like a madman, trying to beat the clock. If he makes it back in enough time, we are golden. If not, there will likely be a big mess.

My husband is fabulous!

Tonight, J was playing in the living room. Suddenly, J grabbed his tummy and said: "I need milk! I need milk! If I don't get milk, I might throw up!"

H and I laughed 'til the tears ran.

Needless to say, J was not in desperate need for milk. He is just fine.

The end result

Lie down. If you sit up, you get pelvic pressure and may deliver early.
Sit up. If you lie down, you get reflux.
Lie down. If you sit up, you get morning sickness.
Drink milk. It fights the reflux.
Don't drink milk. It makes the morning sickness worse.
Drink ginger ale. It fights the morning sickness.
Don't drink ginger ale. It's too acidic and aggravates the reflux.
Drink peppermint tea. It soothes the stomach.
Don't drink tea. It doesn't mix well with stomach acid.
Eat breads. It absorbs some of the stomach acid.
Eat nothing, or you'll throw up from the morning sickness.
Eat anything you can so you don't lose more weight in the pregnancy.

I have discovered that it doesn't matter whether I sit up, lie down, eat, drink milk, drink tea, drink ginger ale, or do anything else ... the end result is that I will throw up regardless. And that's just a lovely thing.

A minor pregnancy annoyance

Cravings.

I get cravings daily now. Generally, around noon. I crave different things each day. None of the things I crave are in our regular diet, so we never have them in the house. And since I'm still on bedrest, I can't go out and get what I want when I want it. Nothing else sounds appetizing until the cravings have passed.

I still have morning sickness, but it is inaptly named, since it becomes worse in the evenings. So by the time H is off work and could pick up food for me, not only are the cravings gone, but the nausea is so pronounced that I can no longer eat anything at all. And since the cravings vary from day to day, I can't even anticipate them for the next day.

It would be infinitely better if the cravings occurred in the evening. But I have no say in the timing of this little annoyance.

The "Kill Your Computer?" button should be grayed out!!

I have had a day even I can't believe!

Entry-level work in short supply today. Office is hopping, but it's mostly senior level work just now, and I can't do that yet. And so I was on the prowl. Need help? Yeah. It was mostly an admin-y type of day. At one point, I was making cold calls. Not a lot of fun, but I'll take it.

Crick in neck. Pain in back. Arms going numb. Ow.

Nearing end of day. Get some work. Pretty basic stuff. Sit down to do first thing on list. Has already been done. Oops. Not a big deal. On to the next one.

Simple. Start project. Get through the hardest part of it. Hit save. Error message. Save again? Error message. Desperately try to save. Error messages. Save to a different directory? Error message. Save to a different drive? And ... Error message. One last try to original location. Finally saves. To ... all ... three ... locations.

No big deal, right? Delete files in alternate locations and keep good location. Good, right? Not so much. Try to open file in its program, and the program directory still shows three copies of same file in three different locations. Try to open the deleted versions, and receive the inevitable error message; file cannot be found. Proper location still works. Why are deleted files still showing up in my directory?? And how can I fix it???

Select a deleted file. Click on "Index" button. Choose "Clear". This should work; I want the deleted file cleared from the index. Popup. Am I sure? Yes. Yes, I'm sure. New popup appears that seems to be counting down as though a bomb is about to explode. Quickly hit "Cancel", but it's too late. Entire database index is deleted. All files. Ever. Rush to a different computer. Is the index there? Index is on the network, and has now been deleted from all computers in the office. Head explodes.

People have left for the day. No one in IT to call. Who can help me? Look at phone list.

And at this moment, H phones me. I get curt; must get off the phone and get some help. Have single-handedly destroyed several years of documentation, and must get it back now. Right now. People need it. Right now. Go away.

Find someone who can help. Thank God! Restore index. Restore takes a good 45 minutes. And computer can't multitask while restore application is running. Whatever. Sit there and stare at screen. Pray this works. Phone H back and apologize for being curt. H doesn't answer the phone. Apologize to machine.

Restore is still happening. Finally talk to H. H was on the phone. H's mom has lost her keys, and needs some help tonight. We must go over. Absolutely.

Owner afraid, 'cause computer not working. Explain situation. Owner stares at me in complete disbelief, and I say something like "In my defence, that button should be grayed out!" Owner agrees. Mental notes are made to speak with IT about making that happen.

Restore finally done. Leave and drive home. Arrive at home. Change clothes. Go to Mom's. Look for keys. There are no keys. Well, there are, but we absolutely can't find them. No idea where they may be. Take Mom down for evening entertainment - jam session and singalong tonight. H and J stay to hang out with Mom, and I go to get a new key cut. Home Depot. They will cut keys. The super has said so. ("You can do it, we can help". Not so much.)

Wander around Home Depot. Where can I get a key cut? Tools. Right. Wander through tools. See no one. Next aisle. Where can I get a key cut? Tools. But there's no one there. Page put out. Young girl arrives. Looks nervous. She might be able to cut the key; she's not sure. Goes through all of the keys in the aisle. Moves to a different aisle. Goes through the rest of the keys. Runs off, and grabs two additional people. The group looks through all of the keys, and then delivers the following astounding line: "This is a Rona key. We don't have these. All our keys are too long, so they won't work. You'll have to go to Rona. Or maybe ... WALMART!!!"

Gnash teeth. Go to Rona.

Wander around Rona. Where can I get a key cut? Tools. Right. No one there. Page put out. Guy in tools gets waylaid by woman who wants to know everything about every single doorknob they carry. Eventually comes and cuts key. Woman actually buys doorknob. Amazing.

Go to pay. Cashiers are swamped. Everyone else is buying out the store, and I have a little $1.50 key in a bag. I give up. Go to customer service. Will somebody please take my money? Done and done.

Back to car. Back to Mom's. It's been over an hour. J is hungry and screaming. H is getting there himself. J is excited to see me. Sliding door moves to let me in, and J puts his hand on the glass in its path. I freak, watching J's hand get squished by the door. Pull his hand free. He is okay, but I may have broken the door. I don't care. All is good.

Go try new key. It doesn't work. New expletives are created.

Leave. Get food. Will deal with faulty key tomorrow. Whatever.

Return home. Look at second car, the one I drive to work these days. Pool of green liquid has formed under car. Shake head despondently, and enter house. (Stupid tri-colored AM lovin' piece of ...)

House smells of cat urine. Cat has been peeing on carpet again. J needs new diaper, bath, food. Cat box needs cleaning. All done. Pee cleaned up. Great cleaner found, gets rid of smell. Great. Good. Cuddle J. Sleep, J. J sleeps. Good.

Cat sits on remote control and turns TV up to around 180,000,000,000 decibels. Fantastic. J sleeps through it. Score!

Life is good. Today, not so much. Tomorrow will be better. I can feel it.

Now, if I can just get to work tomorrow ... (Obviously, the car is not an option.)

Need bath, cry, chocolate, bed ... not necessarily in that order.

Sometimes, griping is good

As I have frequently expressed, I don't enjoy whiny entries from fellow students who complain that things are too hard, too time consuming, etc. But I recognize that sometimes people need to gripe, and I can fully appreciate that need. When one feels stressed and frustrated, it's therapeutic to vent. Go ahead; vent. Don't whine. Don't insult the Association. Don't assign blame for your own inadequacies. Otherwise, gripe away! Provide fellow students with some identifiable comic relief. We all feel that way from time to time.

The following is a gripe from the Student Lounge that I rather enjoyed. You can tell the course is past the halfway point, and the poor student is starting to feel the pressure of the looming exam.

Hi.

This is my 12th course through [the Association] and I have passed them all but feel I'm going to fail this one. My feeling is that I am not so much learning the course material as I am just simply involved in a big scavenger hunt. The notes are most times so vague, and they read something along the following lines:

Module 6.2 will deal with "Auditing around the computer". Pages 250-350 in the text deal with this topic very well, so we won't tell you what the term "Auditing around the computer" means. Instead, we will let you read the text to find out. The text will take 100 pages to explain an idea that could have been printed in a paragraph, but we know you have lots of time to waste and we like to kill trees so, there. There is also an excellent URL listed at the end, but it won't work half the time. The reading lists seven "must know" points, in no particular order, and we won't list them in your printed notes because that would be too easy and you might learn something quickly and efficiently. If you can only find five points in the reading, you're not looking hard enough. If you have problems, ask the tutor. He or she will answer your questions an hour after your assignment is due.

This is an exaggeration but does anyone else have this feeling?!! I'm spending most of my time searching for information to do the assignment and not really learning anything in this course.

I love it! It's the student's 12th course, so we know that he or she has some perspective. A fear of failing is expressed, which we can all relate to. The complaint is in relation to a general lack of organization and wordiness in the materials, which I certainly have experienced in courses. No whining; no insults; no attempts to assign blame. Just an expression of frustration. The student recognizes that he or she can sort through the material and learn the course if given enough time, and he or she is clearly working to do so. And feeling pressured.

All in all, I think this is an excellent gripe. Fun for everyone!

No Award of Excellence

Exam stats are out. As suspected, my 93% will not get me the Award of Excellence. Someone else in Canada got 97%. (Keener!) But that 93% still gets me high mark across Alberta for my term. Woot!

Edit: Alright, it's still possible that I might get the Award of Excellence. Maybe the person who got 97% wasn't a first-time writer. But I think it's pretty doubtful.

I await my "high grade" letter. I like the letter. I would like to have a nice collection of letters from the Association by the time I'm through this program. They're pretty highly regarded.

I'm feeling pretty optimistic today; perhaps I can snag the Level 3 Award of Excellence next year. We'll see!

Now for some random stats: 754 FA2 exams were written across Canada last semester. 501 of those writers passed, for a pass rate of 66.4%. The high grade across Canada was 97%. 54 of the exams were written in Alberta, and 28 Alberta writers passed, for a provincial pass rate of 51.9%.

So to recap, no Level 2 Award of Excellence for T, but still a darned fine result and something to be proud of, especially for a new mommy.

The Almighty Initial

So, H is going for a B.Mgmt. and his FCIP through AU. Meanwhile, I'm trying for my designation/H.B.Com. combo. I will likely use AU a bit and get done ASAP. Someday, we may even take our MBAs. We'll X that bridge later.
(NB: "X" = "cross"; U C?)

One of our friends asked when we are going to stop this school nonsense. I figure it will stop when our career aspirations cease. But if you're going to use the degrees and designations, get them. What the heck. It's not like they will hurt us. Higher learning is always a good thing when it can be put to good use (IMO). I like it.

Anyway, J is asleep in my arms again. He wants to be snuggled to sleep lately; not that I mind! But I'd best put him down and get some stuff done. Studies and laundry are calling me, and it is becoming progressively more difficult to ignore their incessant whining. (Oh, the voices!!)

Here's hoping J doesn't P on his clothes today ag-N.

(Mental Note: Laundry gets cleaner when you remember to turn on the machine before you walk away from it.)

My dilemma

H wants to get his FCIP designation. This means taking 10 courses at a University level. If he has to do that anyway, we figure he may as well make it good and take the courses at a University that will recognize them in a degree partnership. (The FCIP + degree combination would give H more credentials that would double his current salary or better.) I think we have settled on the 3-year Bachelor of Management program over at AU. So H and I will both be in distance learning. (Ugh!)

H will take two of his FCIP courses through AU, then apply for admission into the degree program. They will charge him a reduced fee to evaluate his college transcripts, and he may well get some transfer credits at that time (up to 15 of them, or 5 courses) from his CIP program. He will still have a lot of courses to take, but AU does not have the same "only one course per term" requirements that my program has, and so he may be able to do this without as much agony.

Now, on the subject of my program. At the end of this school year, I will be short one Level 1 course and one Level 2 course. If I could complete both of those courses in the following school year, I'd have my first two levels complete and be halfway through my third level by summer '07 (keeping in mind that there are five levels in my program all-told). BUT both of those courses are consistently (and, IMO, foolishly) offered only once a year in the same term! And my provincial chapter does not permit its students to take more than one course per term, so this puts me in a bit of a bind.

AU also offers certain courses that work in conjunction with my program. And a few of them are also courses that H needs for his program. Specifically, H will have to take Microeconomics (247) and Macroeconomics (248). These two courses combined would give me a transfer credit for that one Level 1 course I still need. (As an aside, the one Level 2 course I still need is also two courses at AU. H does not need those 2 courses.)

H is nervous about taking economics courses (not quite his strong area). So if we both enrolled in 247 and 248 through AU this coming summer, we could help each other through. We'd each have a built-in study partner and could work together on developing our understanding of the subject matter. It would make H feel more confident. AND it would give me a jump on a course that I need; I'd have more prerequisites and could take more stuff and get through my program a little bit quicker.

What is my dilemma, you ask? Well, it is simply this: the two courses through AU are more expensive than the single equivalent course through the association. H's workplace will pay for his two courses up front, pending his successful completion of them. But when it comes to my courses, we are on our own. And the cost for this credit taken through AU will be almost double what it would cost if I just bided my time and took it through the association eventually.

Is it worth the $600 or so to get me done sooner and give H the confidence boost? I am not sure. But I do know that if H fails a course, he has to pay back the $$, so the extra confidence boost may be valuable in the long run. And I also know that completing my program may well take me an extra couple of years if I wait it out and that I'll be worth more $$ once I'm done with school. But spending extra $$ is not easily justified.

Dilemmas, dilemmas.

Your opinions are respectfully requested. What do you think is the best path?