This one time, at knitting camp...I think the "grand scheme of things" reasons I didn't get the loft are becoming clear. (Here's one of my photos of it.)
I almost backed out of knitting camp last minute this year. Alfie had a rough few days last week, and I had him at the emergency vet the day before I was supposed to leave. His allergies were acting up, but the reason we went to the vet was due to the fact he was vomiting several times a day. I was worried about a GI obstruction or maybe pancreatitis or worse, so off we went to the animal ER.
So after several hundred dollars' worth of negative tests, he came home with medication for the vomiting and an antibiotic, just in case something infectious was brewing. Actually, the tests weren't entirely negatively. His x-rays showed some age-related problems that I need to keep an eye on, but nothing acute and nothing relating to his current problems. (Alfie's almost 14.)
After he had a normal night (his first all week), he woke up Thursday morning "sassing" me (meaning he was back to his normal self), and I left for knitting camp as scheduled.
This camp I go to is about two hours away from home in the mountains where there is no cell service. On Friday morning, I was walking from my cabin to the meeting room with friends, when I noticed one, two, then three steps, my knee giving way. By the third step, I absolutely could not walk on it.
Fortunately for me, there were enough sweet little old ladies in attendance that two canes were immediately available to me with three more just a parking lot away. (Who knew so many women traveled with canes?) So as humiliating as this was, I borrowed a cane from the cutest little 86-year-old woman you've ever met. I gimped my way around the next 24 hours, painfully allowing people to wait on me. (I'm serious, it was so awkward to let people take care of me, I'm so independent in my life.) As luck would have it, someone was leaving early on Saturday (versus Sunday, and I had carpooled with others). Once we drove far enough down the mountain, I was able to contact my sister and arrange for her to meet me back home. We went straight to urgent care where now I was the one subjected to x-rays, etc.
Eight years ago, I tore my posterior cruciate ligament (yes, posterior, I know that most people injure their anterior cruciate, but I have to be different, you see). At the time, my dad had had his first stroke the same week, and I opted out of surgery and instead rehabbed my knee with physical therapy. It wasn't really ever 100 percent perfect after that. I have posterior instability and laxity, and little did I know I've been slowly damaging my knee since then, compensating for the instablity with other ligaments, etc.
Anyway, the bottom line is I have arthritis in it (which I knew) and also acute bursitis. I ended up getting a cortisone injection (not nearly as horrible or painful as I feared) and a prescription for an MRI to see if anything's torn (areas of suspect for any medical persons out there are my medial meniscus or medial collateral ligament - my injury is definitely medial). Further treatment will be delineated by the MRI, but please, PLEASE keep good thoughts that nothing's really shredded.
So the cortisone shot has helped a lot. I'm still icing and elevating it, staying off of it as much as possible, but at least I was able to get up the stairs to my front door. My sister had to get some groceries for me this morning and help me out with a few things (and godddamn, I was so fucking bossy, I totally had to reel it in), but I'm pretty self-contained now until I get my MRI appointment. A friend is bringing my car back tomorrow or Tuesday (from the whole carpool set up, my car is in someone else's driveway about 15 miles from home).
What a pain. But if I were packing boxes right now, facing a move, and dealing with escrow, my life would be impossible. This last shot is from the bedroom of the loft facing down towards the living area (the kitchen is in the middle). The top picture is the reverse, living room towards bedroom. I'm off to read more of the Pattie Boyd autobiography now.