Not part of the plan
It was a little over two weeks ago that my spouse bid on and won six homemade pies at Marcellus Library Dinner. The baker, Ann Yuhas, one of legendary abilities, will make us one pie a month for six months.
I wasted no time contacting Ann, explaining that it was Jerry’s birthday on the 19th and that a pie would be the perfect birthday cake. We agreed on a rhubarb pie since there had been a rumor going around that it was supposed to be spring.
The pie arrived on Thursday morning, a beautiful hand plaited, lattice topped, rosy rhubarb pie. Oh my!
My plans for the spouse’s birthday included two things. The first was that I would make reservations for dinner and following that, I would actually choose clothing appropriate for going out to dinner since my wardrobe had been mostly yoga pants and heavy sweatshirts since late February.
I had also planned to make a herculean effort leave my “boy do you look old and infirm” walker at home and use a cane in order to get into a restaurant without a lot of fuss. A black fold up cane seemed more festive and to top it all off, I would put makeup on. Not too much….no need to guild the lily.
We would eat the pie when we got home from dinner. It would be the crowning point of the evening. I set the pie on the counter with the candles nearby. Anticipation.
That morning, I noticed that my socks didn’t fit. That was odd. Why wouldn’t my socks fit?
It took a while to realize that the socks didn’t fit because my feet like my legs, were swollen. Hmmm. I thought, that doesn’t seem right, so I shot off a missive to Syracuse Orthopedic Specialists describing the limbs and went about my day.
One of the nurses called me later in the day and after asking some more questions suggested that I stop into their afterhours facility on Onondaga Hill …. Just to be safe. I filed that away. Maybe tomorrow.
We went out to dinner, enjoying good wine and succulent seafood dishes while eschewing dessert. That pie almost shimmered in my imagination, but as we were leaving, I thought better of the nurse’s suggestion and asked my husband to take me to SOS afterhours just for a look see. I probably had “overdone” something or other. We went. They looked.
Oh, joy! The doctor thought that it needed more looking, so we were then off to St. Joe’s for a doppler study.
The study, a kind of ultra sound, revealed that I needed to sign in as a patient in the Emergency Department because my swollen leg was the result of several blood clots or DVT’s. Yikes!
This was not part of my plans at all. And that pie was sitting on the counter. By this point anticipation had turned to a much more pedestrian and boring waiting. I’m good a waiting. My spouse is not.
At some point after 3 a.m. they packed me up to be admitted. I sent my poor spouse home and resigned myself to yet more hospitalization resulting from what was supposed to be an easy hip replacement in Februrary. Give me break. Oh, wait! I already have one of those. Almost forgot.
After several extended discussions with a doctor and four exceedingly young PA’s, I was given instructions to take a specific medicine for six months and to keep my legs elevated above my heart as often as possible. I’d be home by Noon on Friday.
I did say, and say it often, not that it meant anything to anyone, that I had followed all of the post-surgical instructions to prevent DVT’s. I had taken aspirin, worn my TED stockings until told not to, done foot pumps while resting with my feet elevated. What more could I have done? Which did seem like the same song that I sang when I was told that my first hip replacement had to be redone because my femur had fractured. Hey, I did everything that I was told to do and I did tell everyone that something was wrong, but, as they say that was, by this time, water under the surgical bridge.
And Glory Be, I was home by Noon on Friday. With no sleep for me and very little for Jerry, we needed some kind of Pick Me UP. And there it was: The PIE. I put some candles in it, sang Happy Birthday and celebrated a day late .
What can I say? The pie was delicious, a tour de force with a buttery flakey crust and a so gently sweet filling that I had all I could do to not eat the whole thing. My poor spouse’s birthday became another foray into the world of Ann’s hip replacement. He deserves better.
And, I hope that little piece of rhubarb goodness is not repaid by karma with more medical disasters. Please! Enough!
