My Version of the Morning in Question

Oh where to start!  The morning began with Andy wrenching his neck so bad that he couldn’t move it sideways and I had to drive into the city.  Which, being the best wife ever, I did without complaint.  I delivered us there safely and in record time.  Since we had so much time to kill Lincoln and I discovered and explored a beautiful Armenian church.  I was certain that it would be locked like so many churches around here are, but when I gave the enormous doors (see pic) a tug - they opened!  Lincoln found nothing remarkable about the fact that these doors did indeed open.  I explained that because of vandals most churches around our home are locked.  

The church was beautiful inside (see pics).  I quickly became aware of just how long it’s been since i’ve been in a church when I heard myself address the little priest manning a desk at the front of the church as “Sir” instead of “Father”, as in: “May I take pictures, Sir?”.  (Wish I had a pic of him).  So, in a very reverential whisper I attempted to explain a whole host of things that I either had no memory of (the events depicted in the stained glass windows) or knowledge of (the Armenian Genocide).  Luckily Lincoln didn’t ask too many, come to think of it - any, questions.  I think he was swept up in the holiness of the situation.  He was listening with rapt attention and I swear he saw a light behind my head....or then again, maybe it was a side effect of his meds.

  I, unlike Andy, thought the inside of the church was beautiful (see pics), and I enjoyed my quiet and peaceful time inside.  Andy did come in, and I did take a picture, and the church did not come down. (see pic below - he's in there)

Well, to make a potentially long story shorter.  Upon leaving the church I got my left hand shut inside those gargantuin doors.  All two tons of them, closed on my finger.  Oh God, the pain.  I was dizzy.  The black was closing in and I was sure I’d either puke or pass out.  In the end I did neither but walked like Quasimodo hunched over, blinded with pain, with my left hand held over my head for a few blocks.  (Not  to be a hypochondriac, but I’m pretty sure I was going into shock.)  Andy and Lincoln delivered me to a Dunkin Donuts (my favorite or all time) where they provided me with ice water to plunge my injured finger in, and decaf coffee: light and sweet (I should say: all sugar with a touch of cream and coffee) and a glazed chocolate donut.  You may ask, “But, Stephanie, surely you couldn’t eat whilst in so much pain?”  And to that I would answer, “Honey, I can eat anytime!”

Well after riding the elevator up and down for several minutes we finally found our doctors. (My body was still shaking from the carnage at the church and perhaps all of the sugar I had just ingested.)  We’ve met Dr. Weiner before but today was the first time we would meet his partner, Dr. Harter.  I am happy to confirm that he is equally as wonderful as Dr. Weiner.

We love, love, love them!  They allayed all my fears and made me feel like my neurotic worrying was certainly warranted and that I’d  be a bad mother if I wasn’t worrying as much (insert Andy’s eye-rolling - thankfully no pic of this so you’ll have to use your imagination).  Everything is set for the surgery...more info on that later.  But for now I’ll insert pics of the beautiful and biting church and then get outside and enjoy the sun.