Oh, dear...
What a day. The phone rang before I could call to wish my sister a happy birthday. I was relieved that it wasn’t Karen calling to get the first word in on her special day. No, baby, it was Embot greeting me with the phrase, “I want to tell you this before you see it for yourself.” Being a vigilant and somewhat hyper-concerned mother, I tend to let my eyes wander to the TV every time the FOX traffic chopper reports a crash on the Kennedy etc. etc. Just to check and make sure Em is OK. All she wanted to say was that her car was at her future father-in-law’s auto repair shop (in our neighborhood) because her transmission gave out last night. She was able to get the car up here and get a loaner.

After that adrenaline jump start, I called my sister. I had the feeling this wasn’t going to be her liveliest birthday ever on account of the fact that she is scheduled for surgery tomorrow. (She called yesterday with a hysterical account of her adventures of stopping at her small town pharmacy to pick up prescriptions for the kids and her pre-op prep needs - I’ll spare you the details, but I’m sure you can imagine what I mean. The shoppers at the pharmacy weren’t spared the details as this short trip turned into a nightmare of her most delicate request relayed to all available personnel via the PA system. This made the prospect of spending the evening of her birthday administering said preparations almost enjoyable by comparison.)

So I hoped to catch her before she left for work - with daughter in tow dressed in her best little Janet Reno lawyer suit for Take-Your-Daughter-to-Work Day. The original plan was for my niece to accompany her dad - a surveyor - to work. But they were going to be working in the field today and were explicitly informed that dragging 10 year old children along would be not only impractical but a violation of a variety of insurance regulations.

When I heard Karen’s sleepy voice at 7:00am I knew something was wrong. Not only were they not off to court, but Karen was in the grips of a gall-bladder attack. Blech....that’s gotta be the worst pain I can remember. And I haven’t had a gall-bladder since 1970.

I’ve haven’t heard from her yet about the status of her surgery. I hate to disturb her if she is feeling so awful. If they go ahead, maybe they should yank the gall-bladder while they are at it.

My day was not without its travails. But I think I got off lucky. And the toad is still in one piece!