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Matthew’s surgery went just great. He was able to walk and eat and wiggle all his fingers and toes as soon as he woke up from the anesthesia. And he reports that the pain from the herniated disc poof, is gone. As is the worrisome numbness and tingling he was beginning to feel. We’ll see how sore he is today when he’s *not* on a morphine drip when he wakes up. But I’m so relieved.

He’s got to take it easy for the next month, but that’s to be expected.

Hurray!

Thanks for all the kind thoughts and well wishes, everyone!

Today’s Matthew’s micro-discectomy (sp?) surgery. I’m anxious but also relieved. Trying not to dwell too much on the unlikely but possible “What Might Happen”s. Calmblueocean.

Fifteen critiques in so far from Critters on the story I have currently in the queue. Mental note to self: quit asking if readers think a juvenile story is age appropriate. I always get answers across the board and never change the reading level anyway. So far, getting some decent nit-level feedback, one person who didn’t know what a “kitsune” was, and one person who has, apparently, no imagination what-so-ever. Odd for a genre fiction wannabe writer. Snort.

Also threw up “In the Voices of Innocents” for next week’s queue with an MPC. Already got a couple critiques for that from my Dragon*Con writers group. Plan to send that one in to Ann Crispin to critique for the Advanced Writers Workshop this year. Doh, that reminds me. We had to miss the D*C staff meeting this weekend. We’re still good; we caught the last two. But I should fire off a note to our director person.

Currently at 4000 words with a cyberpunk mythos fusion work. Spent Friday evening mulling over a title. Think I’ve got one: “It’s Only Springtime When She’s Gone.” Got the whole thing outlined and set to finish–which is odd for me since I rarely outline. And I even want to write it so no reluctant muse there. But, unsurprisingly, time to write has not been easy to find.

Debating whether or not I want to bring my laptop to the hospital and try to pound out another thousand words, or if I’ll be too distracted to write and I should just bring the “Year’s Best Fantasy and Horror” anthology my in-laws gave me for Christmas that I haven’t cracked yet.

Ack! They’re going to cut open my husband and remove bits of his back! Ack!

Calmblueocean.

Ack! Too much coffee, too much stress, too many ideas spamming my brain, fingers twitching too hard to type, going to implode . . .

*POP*

Public service announcement: It is possible to OD on coffee. *twitch*

*whimper* My brain hurts.

Matthew’s pretty un-ambulatory these days. I drove him to the neurosurgeon for his pre-surgery check-up and lab work appointment. That was so not fun. Matthew could barely stand or sit, much less walk around from lab room to radiology, etc. And I got lost in the hospital parking complex. Big surprise. I’d get lost in a paper bag if I’d never been in it before. Sigh. Stress levels = high.

We are, however, set up for him to have the surgery next Monday afternoon. Sooner good.

Trying hard not to dwell too much on the fact that they lost us this morning at the doctor’s office. The receptionist put us in a room so Matthew could recline, and then the doctor and nurse couldn’t find us and only located us ’cause I heard them saying “Matthew Foster? Is he here? He is? Where is he?” and poked my head out of the door. And that the last time we were there, they almost mixed up Matthew’s MRI and X-ray films with someone else’s. Twice. Even though the name on the other films was “James Foster” and not “Matthew Foster” and James’ case was a neck problem, not a back. Gleep.

Calmblueocean.

Hobkin came back from the vet’s chipper, alert, and energetic. Not at all acting the way you’d expect a critter who’d been opened up, had pieces extracted, and been sewn back together again to be. All good. He’s doing great.

He was trotting around again immediately.

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We get to pick Hobkin up from the vet’s at 9! Hurray! They called us yesterday as soon as he was out of surgery and coming out of the anesthesia. He did great; the surgery went well. I’m so relieved. It’s not like it was a complicated procedure or anything (not like adrenal or lymphosarcoma surgery with the ferrets), but still, quite relieved.

While he was tucked away at the vet’s yesterday, Matthew and I went to see MIB II. Fun. I laughed. But it felt like a sequel. Not much new, plus some of the emotional satisfaction from the first film got nullified by the plot of the second. Glad we saw it, but I don’t need to see it again. The popcorn was good.

On the Matthew health front, I think he’s getting worse. He’s in pain constantly and it’s very debilitating. Some days he can barely walk, even with mega pain meds to take the edge off. The neurosurgeon consultation thingum was informative, though. I got to see his MRI films for the first time. Yep, his back’s screwed. They recommended surgery, a “micro-discectomy.” We did some research online about it, and it looks pretty promising. Goodness but back surgery has progressed a lot in the last ten years or so. He’s got a tentative appointment to have it done on the 16th, but it may need to be bumped if a non-elective case comes up. I hope it doesn’t get bumped. He’s hurting so much these days. Sooner is better.

Anyone out there have experience with this procedure? Got any feedback?

We bumped up Hobkin’s appointment with the vet to, err, snip off his danglies, by a week. He goes in tomorrow. The little critter is maturing way fast and has begun to interact amorously with the (faux) fur mit toy I made him. But the clincher is that he’s getting more aggressive with his bite play. Them sorts of “adult skunk” hormones make for a bad companion if not taken care of immediately. It’ll be the first time he’s been away from us overnight since we got him. I’m just a wee bit anxious (well more than a wee bit), although the vet and especially Debbie, his assistant, are just wonderful. Debbie promised us that Hobkin will wake up from the anesthesia in her arms so he won’t be alone and scared in a strange place. Debbie rocks.

But, okay, Matthew posts fairly regularly on a board when I’m asleep late at night. This board did a poll. Of course, the results aren’t at all scientific or even a random sampling of the population or anything like that, but he and I were appalled and, well, appalled at the outcome.

Two questions:

1. Who would you chose to rescue out of a burning house if you could only chose one option:
a. your beloved pet or b. a complete stranger.

2. Who would you chose to rescue out of a burning house if you could only chose one option:
a. a loved one (spouse, sibling, parent, for e.g.) or b. three complete strangers.

More people chose the b. options than the a. ones in both cases. And the ones who chose a. usually said they’d feel guilty about doing so.

One person said they’d throw fluffy into a chipper if it’d stop a complete stranger from getting hurt (I sorta have to wonder with this one if “beloved” isn’t a valid adjective in this case).

My feelings:

What’s wrong with these people?? I’d so chuck a stranger into a chipper to save Hobkin, much less just go the passive route and choose to save Hobkin over the stranger. And I’d feel no qualms about it. Ditto on the letting the three strangers burn to get Matthew out. Hell, after seeing the result of that poll, I’m thinking that shoving a few extra people back into the blaze might be a good idea.

I mean how can someone look their husband/wife/lover in the eye every day and think that in a pinch, they’d chose three strangers over them? It floors me how many people think that ethics is math. Saving three people is better by virtue of saving more? Faugh. And then the whole humans over animals thing. I hate how the general populace treat and views animals. But, I mean, if you adopt an animal into your household, you’re making a commitment. You’re promising to love and protect that critter against all that comes. So many people out there think of animals as disposable. Again, I say “faugh.”

I had to pummel my muse and dope her up with caffeine, but I did it. The first draft of my urban fantasy novelette–working title “In the Voices of Innocents”–is complete. I ran the pre-first draft past my first reader (Matthew) and he gave me excellent feedback so that I was able to cut 1000 words. It’s now at a comfortable 8000 words. I doubt I’ll be able to cull another 500 words to drop it back into short story length, but it’s much more streamlined than it was and I’m rather pleased with it.

Next: the Critters queue.

Okay, my goal of writing a thousand words a day last week worked. I got out nearly 7000 words and am about one thousand away from being finished with the first draft of an urban fantasy tale with mainstream overtones. I’ve even got the ending figured out. I just need to tap out the climax scene and then wrap it up in a nice dénouement. But now, since I know what’s going to happen, it’s like tearing fingernails out with an eyebrow tweezers to get my muse to perform.

Argh!

And I’m also a little taken aback at how long this story turned out being. My current “real” word count is 6800 words–1000 for each day, just about. But in manuscript math, that’s closer to 8000 words and by the time it’s done, it will be solidly and inescapably a novelette. I can always fudge the numbers a smidgen on the cover page, but a novelette is a lot harder to sell than a short story. And that’s also inhibiting me. I’m in a “if I add more words to it, it’ll be longer, which is bad” state of mind, and no matter how often I tell myself “if I don’t add more words, it won’t be finished” I can’t seem to shake it. I’m so frustrated.

New plan: coffee. We’ll see if my muse perks up with a deluge of caffeine through our veins. If that doesn’t work, it’s time to get out the thumbscrews.