Long-time readers are aware that six years ago, I messed up a disk in my neck reaching up in the shower to apply shampoo. That's how my injuries happen-not snowboarding, not lugging 50 lb. bags of dirt to the garden-no, I harm myself washing my hair.
At the time, after an MRI, and many, many trips to specialists it was suggested I have surgery-an idea I quickly dismissed after thirty seconds on the telephone with the office receptionist. If you can't get the person booking the appointment to shut up and listen to your question, odds are against getting someone to listen once you're there. Our family doctor understood, and over the years, when it acts up, we spot-treat with pain medication, muscle relaxers, and steroids. This has served me well, as I've only had a few problems since the initial injury, and they resolve quickly with rest.
This morning, I started to pull a jumper over my head...well you know what happened. I could tell, immediately that it was going to be bad. Over the next twenty minutes the pain migrated from my neck to my shoulder, to the middle of my back. The bad news-it is on the other side. Now I have injuries on both sides. I'm hoping it is something minor, or a bulge...but it feels horrible. I'm heavily medicated, and I'm still feeling pain, but I'll going to try and be optimistic anyway because there's no way in hell I'm having surgery.
The last time this happened it was really terrifying as I had a small baby that needed to be lifted, and held, and fed. This time around I can just sit on my behind and give orders. I'm good at that, actually. Mr. ETB is able to do most of his work from home, so I don't need to worry about falling over, or being too out of it to watch Danny. With those concerns out of the way, I'm able to rest and try to get this damn thing healed as quickly as possible...except of course that Danny's birthday is Monday-and I still need to bake and assemble the cake.
Mr. ETB always wanted to learn how to make a Victoria Sponge, and this seems like as good a time as any to tackle it. He'll be learning how to make buttercream frosting, fill a piping bag, and assemble a Trojan horse from cut-up pieces of cake as well. He'll be Martha Stewart by the time I'm through with him. I'm an excellent supervisor-I learned it from my half-Austrian mother :) I probably won't throw anything at him for ruining my pans. Did I ever tell that story? My sister tried making peanut brittle as a teenager, but it stuck to the baking sheet a bit. Now, anyone who has ever eaten candy knows that water, and heat will melt it-just as hard candy melts slowly in your mouth. Thirty minutes in the sink with some water would have solved that problem, but instead our mother went ape-shit and threw a statue at my sister. OK, she threw it past my sister (she wasn't crazy enough to actually throw a heavy bronze at someone) but it landed hard, and the Rodin-esque Thinker was left contemplating a broken foot. Mother fixed it by piecing it back in place with a band-aid. It stayed that way for years until someone finally glued it back in place. Mind, it wasn't packed away, but displayed in our living room, bandaged foot and all. Thereafter, I privately called the statue, "Brittleman". My mother was long dead before I attempted candymaking, because I'm cautious that way.
And in other news, the panettones from yesterday are the best things I've ever baked. When I cut one open this morning, the crumb was feathery-light, beautifully baked, and the fruit was suspended perfectly in all that eggy, buttery, sugary delight. The ciabattas were pretty darn nifty as well, but I think they take the sourdough breads for granted now. Panettone is a once yearly treat. I'm glad I made it yesterday...I think my bread-kneading is concluded for the foreseeable future. I still can't believe I did this to myself by simply getting dressed. God, I'm old.