Okay, this is how much I love knitting. I dare any of you to one-up me, she says, making a sweeping, pointing gesture of defiance that includes the whole of the knitting universe.
Hied myself off to Orthopedics this morning and allowed one Dr. Morris to first jab a long, pointy needle (and, not, I repeat, not of the knitting kind) containing Lidocaine straight into the ball of my thumb. This was followed immediately by the jabbing of another even longer and pointier needle containing cortisone straight into the place where the thumb pain isóeven before the Lidocaine had done its work.
Doc said casually as he slapped a pretty meager-looking Band-Aid on, "Meh, itíll be slightly uncomfortable for the next couple of days."
I am now eyeing my bottle of Vicodin. "Uncomfortable," my sweet Aunt Fanny, Dr. Morris.
And the capper? That was only one thumb. You do the math. What we wonít do for knitting, eh, kindred spirits?
(Then, for another reason entirely which isnít germane to this story, I had an appointment with a male physicianís assistant. His name was Leslie, so we had a man named Leslie and woman named Ryan in the same room. I was sure we were going to generate some kind of weird space-time warp just by dint of our existence and proximity.)
(I know Leslie is a common-ish manís name in England. Just not so much here. Here, it's most likely to get you pantsed.)