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"Happy Thanksgiving! Shitter Was Full!" - Blather. Rants. Repeat.
A Møøse once bit my sister ...
"Happy Thanksgiving! Shitter Was Full!"
(Warning: lots of TMI in here.)

That's not the original quote, and today wasn't even our Thanksgiving. But we're thankful all the same.

It began plenty early- not much sleep for Eleanor, and more of it but plenty of animal and weird-dream interruptions for me- and we hit the road in the dark and rain for the appointed 6 a.m. arrival for surgery check-in. Everything went smoothly, and as I repaired to the waiting room, the surgeon repaired the spurs on top of both of  Eleanor's feet.  Although we had the rent-a-chair in the trunk of Emily's car, when I came round to collect her, the nurse was escorting her out on her own two feet. There she's remained, certainly with pain from the incisions, but not to a point where she can't walk using the boots provided.  Ice packs are an on-and-off proposition, and elevating them on pillows (or if necessary on the dog) is really the only other constant maintenance to be done.

The animals did more than a little acting out. Right before we left,Michelle the evil cat decided to pee all over the kitchen table- and we came home to find the kitchen wastebasket and Eleanor's purse-ish take-to-work bag had been both raided, their contents all over the kitchen floor.  They seem to have settled down some since then- Zoey doing her part to provide the soft fluff surfaces even if not in the right place-

I'd been nervous about whether I'd be able to care well enough for her if things were on the worst-case end of incapacity.  Instead, it's been more keeping up with her and doing as much of the Things as I can. Typical was this exchange early in starting to make dinner tonight:

Her: Can you broil those red peppers so they'll be ready when I cook the fish?

Me: You keep using that word, "I." I do not think it means what you think it means.

So yeah, I cooked it. Not without help, and I'm not sure how many steps I actually saved her, but it's a start.  We ate it watching a hilarious BBC Christmas special that Em tipped us off to- spoofing Peter Pan in the UK pantomime tradition (Oh no they didn't! Oh yes they did!), and if the day ended with one last bit of good news, it's that David Suchet was nowhere near the surgery place. His car would surely have been in the way of her getting out.


Right. The rest of the TMI.

We have also been blessed by Eleanor having no need for, um, alternative arrangements for using the loo. That's a good thing, since the camping-toiletish setup we ordered last week, guaranteed to arrive in time last night, never did.  First time Amazon has ever let us down, and it resulted in a late-night chat exchange with them (after having to google exactly HOW to "contact Amazon about a problem"- there's no link for it attached to the order). My new pal Janine was very nice about it but said, basically, shit happens.  In this case, the pre-op shit was the Post Office inexplicably diverting the package at 4-something Sunday morning from the correct station (ours) to an incorrect one one town over.  We got an account credit for the inconvenience, and unless things get bad after the local wears completely off, we can probably just cancel the order.

Sorry, Cousin Eddie.


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