Packout went well, considering the husband couldn’t do anything that involved standing or moving around. We had a great Salvadoran crew that got everything out of the house in less than three days. After all the horror stories I have been hearing about moving companies lately, I was relieved to see how obviously competent they were. Not that I have a lot of fragile or valuable stuff, but I do like it to end up in the right place, you know?
I was considering whether the cat might have been three: he had got so freaked out by pre-moving activities that he was chewing on his tail and made it all sore. Then he took off like a shot when the movers came, and I was really worried I wouldn’t be able to get him back. Fortunately, when they went to lunch, he came home to give me a piece of his mind, and I scooped him up and took him to the kennel, stopping for a Cone of Shame along the way (he definitely won’t be the cool kitty in the cat condo).
The husband had an appointment with the orthopedist around mid-day on the third day packing day, presumably to get a cast or a boot, and he took a taxi to get there. I finished up the mover’s paperwork, zoomed around for a couple of hours doing move-out cleaning, and had just settled my aching, sweaty bones down in a porch chair for a last, ceremonial beer in the garden, when he called.
“Can you come pick me up and take me to the ER? They want me to go right away.”
NOT words you want to hear, ever, really, but especially not at the end of the longer days/weeks in your life.
Not only was the bone not setting correctly, requiring surgery, but he had developed a blood clot in his leg. This is sometimes a result of a fracture, but still a bit scary, especially considering he has a family history of this sort of thing.
So, let’s see: everything we own, including the car, on its way to Europe, cat in the kennel by the airport, both kids already on the other side of the pond, reservations made for a mountain getaway that I really was looking forward to (even with a gimpy husband) and right after the moving truck pulls out and we are officially homeless, we go to the ER. For a condition that definitely rules out long airplane flights.
I’d call that three!
He is now spending a second night in the hospital, and is doing well. The main problem is that they can’t operate on his ankle while he is on the blood thinners, and he also has to have a few days to recover from the surgery before flying. So there is quite a time lag. It’s pretty clear he won’t be going to Vienna on the 7th, as planned. But our kids are still over there, on separate trips both terminating in Vienna a few days after our arrival, and the cat’s paperwork will expire, and well, we are pretty much living in our Prius after the per diem runs out, so I guess I’m going!
Mountain getaway cancelled, obviously, but it’s not like there aren’t mountains in Austria, sigh. At this point, even a generic American hotel feels a bit like a vacation to me, just because I don’t have to pack it, sort it, or clean it. I’m OK with that. Really.
So, Conehead Kitty, looks like it’s just you and me, flying the friendly skies. I’m really happy you don’t have luggage…