I've always considered myself an empathetic creature. Until this past weekend. My husband had knee surgery on Friday to correct a slightly torn meniscus. It was discovered that he had gout/pseudo gout or some such thing which was the root of all his pain. I have an extremely high tolerance to pain and found myself at a loss over the weekend to provide sympathetic care. I did cater and serve but my response to "the leg spasms are killing me" was "been there. done that. get over it." As I wrestled the crutches from my husband's hands, I realized it was a good thing I never felt the call of nursing. And my solution to gout? Giving my husband bitter cherry juice and saying in a jovial voice "drink up, it's good for you."
Julie obviously parading around in the skin of her villian...
Sunday, February 17, 2008
I really don't. Weird, huh? Actually, it's probably because I'm steeped in my current wip. I have been challenged with character naming on this ms. It stems from the wide range of ethnic backgrounds that I have included, creating the insecurity of totally making a serious snafu and giving someone a name that is inappropriate to their culture. I persevered and succeeded but not without much hair yanking and blood letting.