This is a test...

This week seems to have been designed to test my mental fortitude.
My ability to handle stress.
A little experiment to see whether I crack under the pressure.
Let me explain.
In addition to breaking, then re-breaking my foot, all while walking mind you, two family members had surgery on Monday.
My mom, who underwent an emergency colostomy last fall, had surgery to reconnect all her plumbing. The surgery went well, though the pain and side-effects of medication are difficult to contend with. She is expected to have a full recovery, though it will be at least 6 weeks before she feels strong and healthy again. My sister is in Arkansas for these first two weeks, I have the next week, another sister the week after that.
Still wondering how I'm going to manage on my broken foot...
Ivy also underwent her surgery on Monday.
She had laparoscopic surgery to spay and attach her stomach to the rib cage.
Giant breed dogs, like St. Bernards, are not only prone to bloat, but also to stomach twisting during bloat. Attaching the stomach to the rib cage will form adhesions that should help prevent the stomach twisting, which is usually deadly.
Surgery went well, though Ivy was a little confused as she didn't know she was "broken" to begin with.
However, she is not to run, leap, or bound for two weeks.
That's 14 days.
336 hours.
Let's just say it isn't easy keeping an 80-pound, 7-month-old puppy from bounding.
Especially since I can't walk her, due to broken foot, and she is not allowed out in the yard off leash.
So far, the poor baby has spent a lot of time in her kennel and Michael has been coming home midday to take her for a walk. Sarah also has been walking her and sitting outside with her for stick chewing (Ivy, not Sarah).
11 more days to go.
Also this week, Michael had a temporary crown put on a cracked tooth. The procedure, however, required so much novocaine that he spent the rest of the day drooling on his computer while frantically trying to finish a huge project due that night.
Melissa got her braces on and is coping well.
Though "misery" would best describe her affect right now.
Fern has started waking us up again at night.
She likes to be accompanied to the food dish in the bathroom.
Usually around 3:30 a.m.
And 4.
Sometimes at 4:35.
Last, and certainly not least, we had a little cave-in.
I was reading to Melissa the other day when we heard a loud, thudding crash.
We thought Sarah was home.
When she didn't troop on through the door, we figured maybe the cats were thundering after each other upstairs.
Later in the afternoon, we heard another, similar thud.
The UPS man?
Hmm, could be.
Still later, Sarah went up to do the daily cat chores.
"Oh my god!"
What was it?
Had someone pooped outside the box yet again?
"Mom, the ceiling fell down!"
Surprisingly, I knew exactly what she meant.
We had a roof leak last fall that buckled the ceiling in the bathroom closet, a large room that holds not only bookshelves, but litter boxes, bathroom recycling, and other paraphernalia. We'd had a minor collapse in the fall, but this was the real McCoy.
Fortunately, Michael had his drooling under control by the time he got home, so clean-up was fairly straight forward.

All this, and it's only Thursday...