I’m sitting in the center of a humongous mountain storm, and I love it. I love storms. I love the way they sound–the pitter patter of rain on a tin roof, the crack and then the rumble of the thunder, the plink plink of drops hitting glass, the wind. I love the smell–it’s the greenest, most alive thing I’ve ever smelled. I love the sight, especially the grey sky. We have a sliding glass door on our little B and B room that opens into a walled patio, so I can watch the whole thing from my bed. Tim and I got caught out in one last night, and it was glorious. I loved sharing my love of rain with him. He doesn’t quite get it. But then, he didn’t grow up in desert country in a drought.
The power even flickered on and off a few times. But I’m safe. My computer runs on battery.
Tim should be back in a little more than an hour, and then we’ll brave the rain together to go find us some food. Preferably accompanied by chocolate. I would almost kill for chocolate right at this moment. Good thing I’m alone.
Until then, I’m trying my hardest to be productive. This storm, though, is cramping my style. That very same style where I was sitting out on our little patio working on my lesson plans. What can I say, except that it must be a sign to put off my lesson plans for another day. Yup. Definitely a sign.
In between that last word and this one, I went to look for my camera cord to upload a picture of the storm, and I just realized I can’t find my purse.
I just went to look some more, and remembered that I stuffed it down under the car seat last night when Tim and I attempted an evening hike that turned into an evening hike in a storm.
Hopefully it’s still there.
I’d call Tim and make him check, but he’s out of cell service and I can’t get him.
The last time he was up here working on this project (or actually it was two times ago), I couldn’t get ahold of him, either. And I really, really, really needed to. Like I ended up calling his Aunt who goes to church with his boss and had the home number for his wife, who called him at work, who called a secretary at the station, who finally paged my husband over the intercom. “Tim, please call the front desk. Tim, the front desk.” And he called, and the secretary said “Tim, John needs you to call him right away. It’s about your wife.” At this point, we have only been married for about 1 month, and that was back when he had to leave me behind when he traveled because I wouldn’t fit in his suitcase. Actually, it was because I still had a real job that actually paid something.
So he starts getting worried. And he calls John. “Tim, your wife’s had a fall, and she’s at the hospital. She needs you to call her right away.” “Is she okay?” “I’m not sure.”
About 1/16 of a second later, my cell phone rings. And believe me, I had been waiting for it to ring for awhile. Tim’s Aunt was the last resort, after trying the number he usually called me from (only outgoing calls, no incoming allowed), calling ALL the Dominion power phone numbers listed in the phonebook at least twice, being transferred from person to person to person who couldn’t give me a number for the Bath County Power Station, no ma’am, sorry ma’am, and finally breaking down into tears. I am not a hospital person. Never have been. Probably never will be. Actually, that might be the reason I fainted in the first place.
While watching a cataract surgery.
Toppled right on off my bar stool perch just as Dr. Mullen was about to slip in that intraocular lens.
Hit my head on the solid concrete floor.
Came to with absolutely no idea where I was, what I was doing there, who in the world owned the four strange black masked faces staring down at me, and why they were holding my legs straight up in the air. I thought maybe I’d been kidnapped, and they were hiding me down in a basement somewhere. A basement with lots of multi colored extension cords, a very hard concrete floor, and an operating table.
It all came back about the time I glanced over to see Dr. Mullen calmly proceeding with his surgery.
…the sick feeling in my stomach as I bent over to watch through the second microscope as he cut and stirred into that golden brown eyeball. …sitting with my back to the cold wall trying to get enough oxygen through my face mask. …clambering back up on the stool the nurse rolled over for me because I felt like I was expected to finish watching the surgery. …leaning back in to position my eyes into the microscope binoculars. And then waking up to a terrorist attack.
I’m not the fainting type.
I have a strong stomach, or at least I thought I did (after all, not every girl can hunt, gut, and butcher an elk).
I’d had a good breakfast (Kashi Go Lean mixed with cheerios in milk).
I’d never fainted before.
Shwew. Not the week I would have picked to have Tim out of town!
Thankfully, my college roommate’s parents live in town, and they are pretty much amazing. They came and picked me up from the hospital (nobody, not even the doctor, would let me drive), swung me by work (so I could grab the numbers I needed to make my post-op cataract surgery calls on my cell phone), and took me on home (to their home, where there is a guest bedroom that bears my name) so I could crash. Tim called at midnight to make sure I still knew my name and date of birth. Mom called at 5am to ask me who the president was. I pulled through with only a very minor concussion and no long term side effects or bleeding on the brain (do doctors tell you all the possibilities to scare you spitless or just to ensure you keep your follow up appointment?).
Although every so often I like to blame a blonde moment or two on those brain cells I must have lost on that concrete floor.
Man, I hope my purse is still under the back seat of the car.
I guess I’ll just have to post pictures of the storm later.
Remember that storm?
It’s a doozy. It’s still going strong.
But we haven’t lost power.