Tomorrow I go in for surgery...NOT my favorite thing...to remove the metal bar and 6 or 8 screws that are holding my left ankle together. Yesterday and today I've been trying to get the things done that require me walking/driving/leaving the house/being upright. Bank...grocery store...gassing up the car...the kind of chores I refer to as "killin' rats"--that is, things that have to get done, but nobody likes doing. I'm also digging out my Advance Directive paperwork to take along, much as thinking of that kind of thing is Big Time No Fun and makes me cringe a bit, it's gotta be done. My own personal take is: No heroic measures (which means no rescusitating me or placing feeding tubes if it means I'll be a vegetable and have no quality of life), and if I pass away I want to donate any organs they can use and cremate the rest of me. Strip me for parts and burn the rest, heck I'll be long gone anyway so I won't care. *L* J. has the same plans, although he still needs to officially fill out the paperwork. Hate that general anesthetic, *bleah*. I really am fascinated by surgery anyway so I'd prefer to be able to watch, but they don't allow it.
This evening I was out
enjoying the grass and visiting with the chickens since I'm going to be
in the house for the next few days/weeks (our house is raised and has no
wheelchair ramps). Phoenix the rooster
over to be friendly, so I picked him up, talked to him and petted him.
I teased him a bit with my standard line as I gently felt his little
meaty thighs, "Ooh, aren't we a yummy, meaty bird! Umm, yep he's
just about ready to eat, FEEL those meaty little drumsticks!" Phoenix just
gives me a "Sure, like you'd ever really eat me. I know you're
full of BS." look and bears with it. N. came over and said, "Can I?"
OK, I said, but gently. She does, feeling his thigh and saying, "Yum,
I was laughing so hard I had to set Phoenix down. Drumsticks=ice cream, in the mind of a 5 year old... :)