Something Works!

So I went to see the OB last week (and I am going to write more about doctors soon, but another day, when I have time and brainpower) to check in with her and about scheduling my baby removal date. She is lovely (but that for another time). And! The best thing of all! In a summer of slipping timelines and growing add-ons and all the rest, we managed to get something scheduled for the absolute perfect time. Like, the time we had said would be ideal, and floated to her as "if there is any way...," fully expecting that there would not be. So good. The only thing that is not perfect about it is that Misterpie will be at school until 3:30, and I am booked for 4, but have to be at the hospiutal for two hours of prep beforehand, so I will have to sit alone and wait anxiously for him to show up while they do all that pokey, probey medical stuff to me, like IVs and catheters and needles and whatnot. God, I hate that stuff (well, doesn't everyone?). They always take several tries on the IV, so I think I'm going to have to be a bit pushier about getting their best nurse in for it right off the bat. And I guess I will need a book to read. Maybe some sudoku. Hey, anyone around that afternoon with nothing better to do than sit in a hospital with me until Misterpie arrives?

And she can do my tubal at the same time. But do you know, she told me how they do it, removing them to the outside, tying them in a loop, then cauterizing the ends to seal them, basically doing everything in their power to destroy their function as tunnels of conveyance, and they still have failures? I knew that if they just tied them or just snipped them, there were some times when they body healed itself, and I knew that vasectomies had some failure rates, but wow, is mother nature ever one determined bitch! It is, at least, a rate somewhere between 3 in 1,000 and 1 in 100, so I have good odds, but she did note that if I ever feel like I might be pregnant...

Afterwards, I told Misterpie that while he was off the hook for now (and that his testicles could thank me later for not having a scalpel and an ice pack in their future), if there was failure, he'd be next up to bat. And that as a thanks, I'd accept jewels for sparing his jewels.

So anyhow, if the next two weeks come together and The Bun stays put where he belongs for the interim, this will all happen. Keeping my fingers crossed (though typing is awkward this way) - won't you join me on that?

BUT - not everything.

With all the pounding on the third floor... guess what? The ceiling in the baby room, an old plaster ceiling of dubious stability anyhow, but holding steady up til now, began to crack. And bulge. And crack more deeply and hang in an ominous fashion. So we finished emptying out the room of all of its contents (and this was the office/library/everything else room, so lots of contents), and today, Misterpie went in and brought down the ceiling so it can be drywalled along with the third floor and the duct run on the first floor.

We had had a pretty successful dust containment system going up until today, but now the entire second floor is coated with a fine layer of grit. By the time the drywall people get to the sanding stage, the wall in the first floor should accomplish the same thing down there. Meaning that my entire fucking house will be covered in dust and crap. All books. All clothes. All furniture and carpets and surfaces. I am so completely unimpressed.

Anybody have a spare bedroom?