Er, by me. Heh heh. Oops.
I am alive. Miraculously, Wednesday morning I woke up and felt normal (for an endo patient). And I had lost three pounds. Not worth a useless and extremely unpleasant day, but acceptable, I suppose.
Tomorrow, we are signing the papers for the offer on The Overpriced House. It will be our first offer. It will also be rejected, but that's OK, because we have not made an offer before, and it will be a learning experience. (This is sort of like taking an HPT so you can mark another box on your charts, even though you know full well what the outcome will be. Except probably less fraught.)
If any of you has nothing else to pray for (and I think this takes a distant infinity-second to the intentions of every blogger on your blogroll, my blogroll, and all of their blogrolls, plus most of the people I know in real life, all of whom have real problems), you could maybe say a prayer that they for some reason accept our offer. But they won't, so probably that's not a good use of an intention.
Also, touching on Tuesday again: at the beginning of the morning I did offer up the unpleasantness for all of your intentions (rarely do I remember such things). I didn't have quite the energy to go through everyone systematically, but I did have a general but firm mental impression of babies who should not be miscarried, cycles that should not be futile, and jobs that should be worked out. And then at the very end - I almost forgot! - I offered my small suffering for the restoration of my husband's faith.
A few minutes before, he later told me, in the shower, he had said a prayer - God, if you're real, and if my brother (his oldest brother) gets into treatment for the alcoholism that's killing him, I will at least try to be a good Catholic, even if I'm not sure I believe it in my heart.
That evening, while I tried to be supportive from my rather maudlin nest of blankets, I listened while my husband talked to his parents and siblings, and then his eldest brother and the brother's wife - and the stubborn, possibly suicidal brother agreed to seek treatment for the first time, ever (he's in his forties). Of course, he was very drunk and incoherent, and would never remember by morning.
The next morning, he checked into detox. His BAC was .447. (Look that one up.) Now he's agreed to go to AA.
Praise God.
