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Why do we do what we do? Part 1

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Why do we do what we do? Part one.

Why on earth would anyone with any sense pick up sticks or hooks and string to create something that can be purchased for a fraction of the cost and a micro fraction of the time? Just go buy the dang socks! Pick up a 6 pack of kitchen sponges and do your dishes with them!! Seriously!

I can't speak for you guys, but at the moment, I'm picking up my sticks and string to keep from sobbing in the corner or running as fast as I can for another planet.

Here's the boggle in my world. Sweet guy has had a 'diffuse funk' (my term) going on health-wise for a while. I'll skip the drawn out history, 3 years in the making, and cut to the chase. He feels crummy, has for a while. I finally nagged loudly enough and long enough that he found new docs and we started thinking there could be a resolution to the 'diffuse funk'. The not so fun part of the resolution was going to include giant needles to drain excess fluid out of his lung spaces and abdomen.

Guess where you go to have giant needles draw multiple liters of fluid out of your sweet guy's body?? Yep, the hospital, or hospitals, in this case. It's an outpatient thing, so not a huge deal, they said. Unless you are the scared to death spouse who has to drive to the hospital and then hang out for countless hours while the big needles drain out fluid. So what did I do? I knitted. I armed myself with sticks and string and I knitted. Really brainless projects some times so I didn't have to think about pattern and row. And some times really complex patterns where the ONLY thing I could think about was keeping the pattern going.

We thought we were headed to the promised land of better health. But the new meds backfired and weakened his bones and a series of compression fractures of vertebrae happened. Guess what helps diagnose that? X-rays (those were easy) and MRIs, today was the second one. More waiting. Sweet guy drove himself to the first MRI, it was local so I wasn't really worried. Unfortunately the contrast made him act like a rowdy pirate for about three days, so when this most recent was scheduled, I arranged coverage and drove.

More waiting, more waiting rooms. I'd packed a couple projects (who works on just one at a time???). I found out that I could be in the noisiest place on the planet with him. (If you have never experienced the noise of an MRI, it is a real EVENT.) I asked about taking in my knitting for the hours of waiting. First response was a gasp of, "NO". I actually said to my sweet guy, 'Well Sparky, you are on your own....." Luckily when I asked the MRI tech if I could have knitting needles, he took one, placed it on the machine, and since it didn't stick there, he said I could knit with no problem.

So there I was, sweet guy laid out on a device Torquemada designed and me knitting. Socks were the project that made the cut, aluminum needles, no worry with the MRI. And so, while sweet guy somehow managed to snooze (NO LIE) in the noisiest place I have ever been, I knitted. I turned the heel of a sock and made.myself.breathe. Breathe, because the results of this MRI will decide if we can go forward and do the 'Gorilla Glue Procedure' (again my words) to fix the smushed vertebrae or if we have scarier stuff in our future. I knitted. I knitted the ribbing and then turned the heel of a sock, something I have done hundreds of times, and it was OK. For that hour, I could work on that sock and turn that heel and hope that my sweet guy is going to get better.

And what we are in the middle of is chicken spit for you guys who have had REAL illnesses. Cancer and dementia and all those other evil things that snatch the people we love from our arms. All those things so very out of our control, chemo and surgeries and radiation, all those THINGS we cannot control. And so maybe you knit or crochet to keep breathing too.

I have, through the years, had many, many dear customers knit their way through a million hours in doctor's offices, and waiting rooms and beside a hospital bed. And when I hear that the knitting is what is keeping them from sobbing in a corner or running for Mars, I always say a prayer for them and their people and for peace. And I might that evening, as I did today in the noisiest place on the planet, knit my favorite sock ribbing. I almost always knit a 3x1 ribbing, three knits, one purl. And as I knit that ribbing, thinking and praying for you and your person, or for me and my person on the table, I quietly pray, "Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, hear my prayer and bless this person".

So, for me today, that is why I knit. I know a bunch of you understand this at the core level. It's you I'm knitting my ribbing for, and saying a prayer.

In sticks and string, xoxo

-j


 

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