Believe it or not, a few (mostly) non-baby-making-related things have happened to us lately.
On Wednesday, Shrike took BigGaloot to the vet for his regular check-up. He weighed in at 85 lbs (vet said she’d like to see him lose about five) and tested positive for Lyme disease.
Needless to say, we’re not too happy about that, but he’s on antibiotics now and they said that should knock it out.
He’s taking 21 days of the same stuff (doxycycline) that I took 7 days of a few weeks ago, to make sure I was cootie-free before trying to get pregnant, but he gets 4 pills once a day and I took 1 pill twice day – and mine weren’t hidden in peanut butter.
It will be a year, though, before the antibodies clear his system and he’ll test negative, so we can know that we got it all.
Since Shrike is the one who walks them in the woods (where we’re assuming he picked up the tick) she’s going to get herself tested, as well.
Since we learned this the day before my IUI was scheduled, I freaked out a bit, as to whether I was at risk for Lyme (we generally don’t tromp in the woods when I’m walking them) and whether that would throw a monkey wrench in our plans.
I checked with my RE nurse and she told me that there’s “absolutely nothing to worry about” for me. Whew!
Oh, and the “Little Lymey” reference?
That’s what Shrike calls Galoot these days.
Also on Wednesday, just as I was turning onto our street (after driving an hour home from work, mostly on the Interstate), my car suddenly lost power.
I coasted to within one house of home before running out of momentum, and a neighbor (not AcrossTheStreetGuy; his next-door neighbor) pushed me into our driveway.
I probably should have called a tow truck then, but I went inside and sort of forgot about it until Shrike came home and asked why the car was parked all cock-eyed at the end of the driveway. Oops.
I called our mechanic Thursday morning, and arranged for him to tow it in before we left for the doctor’s office. When the driver got there, he tried to crank it, then told me:
Wrecker Guy: It sounds like the timing belt. The problem is that on a lot
of Escorts they, they have a blah-blah-blah engine, which means that if the timing belt goes, everytime you try to crank it, the pistons hit the yada-yada, causing damage.
Me: Don’t tell me that!
WG: Would you rather I lie to you?
Folks around here are very literal. They don’t do well with figurative speach. Hyperbole, irony, sarcasm, etc. are totally lost on them. As you might imagine, I find this incredibly frustrating.
Me: No, you’re just scaring me.
Him: Well, I don’t mean to scare you, but I know a “death whirl” when I
hear one. You need to start thinking about what you want to do if it’s not repairable.
Me: Oh, ever-lovin’ shit.
Needless to say, there was much discussion about this on the way to the doctor’s appointment.
The decision was that, since we do own a third vehicle (Sort of. We bought a small truck from Shrike’s dad a couple of years ago, and use it primarily for hauling purposes. It’s not the greatest or most reliable thing in the world, but it’s ours.) we would not consider replacing my car until I’m well into a pregnancy.
The logic being that, right now, we don’t know how long or, key point being, how much money, it will take to get pregnant. That’s information that would be very useful when purchasing a car.
At some point, I believe I even spoke to my pelvic region, telling my egg that, “Assuming the car is screwed – if you will find a sperm and “stick” we’ll buy you a new car – complete with your very own back doors!”
(My Escort is a 2-door hatchback. Not the most convenient thing in the world for wrestling with a car seat. But it’s ours!)
However, the story does have a happy ending.
The mechanic called back while we were driving home from the doctor’s office and said that my car is not one of the models with that dumb kind of engine, so there should be no serious damage, and it probably won’t cost more that $250 to fix!
He did call again yesterday to suggest that we replace the water pump, for about another $75, but we’re still talking about way, way, way less than replacing the car.
Disembodied Groundhog Ass
Thursday evening, we were in the office talking, each seated at our own computer, when Big Galoot came in and plopped down on the floor between us.
This is pretty standard behavior, and we didn’t pay much attention to him.
At some point, I looked down and him and asked Shrike, “Um, what does have?”
On the floor, right in front of his nose was some stuffed toy (or so I thought) that I didn’t recognize.
My thought process went something like this:
That part is furry with a tail, but I don’t see the head, and the rest of it is made of . . . . . .leather?
. . .fabric?
. . .muscle?!?!?
Oh my God, what the fuck IS that?!?!?!?
We never did identify exactly what it was, but our best guess is that it was the back part of something that was formerly alive, ater having been partially skinned.
Perhaps the groundhog that
lives lived under the shed.
Shrike got a plastic bag, to dispose of it, but when he saw her coming, Galoot picked it back up and took it back outside.
Which, actually, was fine with us.
At bedtime, we lured him way from it to come inside (so he could sleep in our bed?!?) and Shrike said she’d deal with it in the morning.
She couldn’t find it yesterday. We don’t know if they actually consumed it, or buried it, or what.
But we’re just as glad that we don’t have to deal with it now.