As I was healing up in the hospital, C. and I were pondering how best to get back to Texas with a van that didn't start half the time and an adult with a recent belly wound. We needed a wing-car.
My family were the closest people to us geographically, but they proved unwilling to make the trip, and come to think of it, wouldn't have been much fun anyway. C.'s parents, who are awfully nice, offered to come and shephard us back to their place in New Mexico, which was supposed to be our pentultimate destination anyway. It would have been a long drive for them, though, and fate happily intervened in the form of my hetero lifemate B., who was looking for an excuse to drop out of graduate school and who brooked no denials in flying out to Denver, renting a car, and rushing to my bedside.
So I was born back to Texas via Las Cruces, NM in a winged chariot with air conditioning and XM radio and good shocks. I even felt a tiny tinge of guilt as C. rattled along in front of us, hot and dusty in good old Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, which predictably died at every other pit stop, so that B. had to nose the rental car in behind and give the van a little boost til C. could pop the clutch and start her. This worked like a charm, however.
So now we are back home and my regular physician took my staples out last week and told me to avoid "heavy lifting and extreme activity" for at least two months. I guess this means I won't be dancing any time soon. I was wanting some time off this summer. Now I don't have much choice.
The scar is long and red as a millipede, and sore. Standing up straight without wincing takes effort and concentration. In a few weeks I may be able to cover up the cosmetic damage with clever use of corsets, but the real test will be stamina. I don't think I could walk around in stilletto's for eight hours bullying drunk people out of money at the moment. We'll see.
Meanwhile, bills are coming due, not least of them C.'s fall tuition. I have some savings, and my dayjob project has enough funding for me to pay myself to work on it full-time at least for the next little while. Lean times, though. Let's hear it for beans.