I admit it. I did not finish the doodle bag. I reread Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. Mind you, the body of the bag is done, as is the strap. It's just...not finished. It has to be assembled and fulled. I have a good reason, though. It's safer to read rather than knit when you're worried.
Himself's mom is having a bit of surgery today. Nothing horribly major. Of course, the doctors like to tell you that an operation is common, easy, no problem. Well of course it is! It's not their relative on the table now, is it? In this case, it is simple, but she's 84. One tends to worry.
She woke up yesterday with pain in her left arm. Away to the hospital, where they ran every test known to Man. And where that one relative who has to control the flow of information said, "She's great! She's sleeping."
She's only okay, and she's wide awake, it turns out! There is a clot that needs to be removed. The staff is calm, efficient and caring. The relative with the penchant for control issues (who has been informing everyone that Oh, S just had to run some errands today while the woman was in the Emergency room, thank you very much) is discussed in derogatory terms for failing to explain the status of the clan matriarch. Dinner is eaten at the Waffle House and all members disperse to await further info.
People being people, we are all in the process of tying up loose ends of business so we can converge on the hospital and spread good vibes. Liberal amounts of prayers, Reiki and happy thoughts are flying everywhere. Even Himself, who takes the most laid-back approach to his own physical wellbeing that I've ever encountered, is leaving work at noon. Good lad. Loves his mother. All will be well.
I think I'll be able to do some knitting now.