Achilles Heel

I'm cursing the ancient Greek gods today. Why did Achilles' mother dip him in the River Styx by his heel? Why didn't she hold him by his pinky finger? If our weak spot was our pinky finger, Cupid would have aimed for that instead of Scott's Achilles tendon this morning in church basketball, and Scott would be at the Utah game right now with his finger in a splint. Instead, Cupid shot at Scott's ankle, snapped his Achilles tendon and flew off. I'm sure that's what happened. Maybe it was a stray arrow. It is Valentines Day, and you know how carried away Cupid gets. I don't know why he would be aiming for Scott, anyway. Scott is already madly in love...with me, mostly because I gave him that big basket of valentine treats that he's eating now, with his leg propped up and iced.

Thank heavens for Mike, who has been around since Scott's last ankle injury, on the first day of summer vacation after 8th grade. (another basketball injury.) Thanks to Mike's friendship, Scott avoided a long, pointless stay in the ER and was able to see a specialist who scheduled him for surgery Monday to reattach the tendon. (Two surgeries in one year, both to reattach stuff? Seriously.) On this day of love, I can't even tell you how much we love Mike and Sarah and all of our old and new friends. They bless our lives every day. And thank heavens for Bruce and Marlene, who happened to be here when Scott came home from the church and hobbled out of his car. They were able to take Scott to the doctor's house in a blizzard in their big truck. My dad drove Golda to play practice in his 4-wheel-drive so I could take Ari to cello. It's amazing how much backup you need when there's a parent incapacitated! We're just so thankful to have the back-up.

Now Scott is watching basketball and bossing everyone around. A few minutes ago, he got a paper cut, sitting on the couch opening an envelope. A paper cut. I had to bring him 1. a band-aid 2. alcohol and a rag 3. antibacterial stuff 4. a drink. Oh my he__! It's going to be a long recovery. And I am not Florence Nightengale. When Scott said the doctor told him he'd have to take a few days off from work, I said, "Why? You can't elevate your leg at the office? What kind of work does he think you do, coal mining or something? Put your laptop on the floor and a pillow under your leg."

Have I mentioned how much I adore Scott? If anyone wants to come over and close the blinds for him, or put his juice glass in the sink or hand him the remote or doctor his paper cut, I'm sure he would appreciate it. His wife is having trouble hearing him call for help.