Nearer my god to thee

Today was weird.

So I get out to the airfield this morning, and they're all waiting for me, and we pile into this tiny little anchovy can with wings. They let me sit up front. They encouraged me to sit up front. It was me, and two other doctors, and an ultrasound tech. And, obviously, the pilot. So I walked across the wing (!) and climbed in. We didn't shut the door until we were just about to take off (because, you know, there's no AC on the plane). And then away we went.

I was practically in the pilot's lap.

It does not help that little planes? Not so much made for big people.

Also, you know, I've never once gotten carsick, airsick, or seasick in my entire life. But I'll be honest, I was a little queasy for about the first 15 minutes or so. It was definitely bumpier than a commercial flight. On the way home, we flew through some rain (at about 5000 feet, which meant we were flying through a whole bunch of clouds) and there was a lot of this sort of slipping going on that felt like being in a car that was sliding on ice. I'm knitting away, being a little nervous about this (not to mention all of the bumping around we were doing)....and the pilot was reading a book.

I was just glad it wasn't Flying for Dummies.

AHEC was an interesting time, too. The staff psychiatrist and I tooled around digging up crazy people. No, really. It was actually kind of cool. He and I got in the car, and drove around doing home visits. Or, well, the closest we could get. One guy, who's homeless, apparently they usually meet him at the library. Today the shelter let them all stay in, because it was so hot out (SO hot), so we pulled up to the shelter, and he climbs into the back of the car, we check in with him, and then he gets out and we drive away. The first guy we saw, he answers the door, he's this young guy, cornrows, t-shirt, baggy jeans. We walk into the house...and it's full of these, like, 12" dolls with big, crocheted dresses.

We walked out, and I said to Dr. B... "Um...so I'm guessing that's his mom's house."

It was also immaculate. Smelled like apple-cinnamon oatmeal. There were adorable small people there (his nieces, for whom he babysits). I was ready to pull up a spot on the big overstuffed couch and watch Hannah Montana with them.

He also gave us a CD he made of two of the songs he wrote. He and Dr. B trade hip-hop CDs occasionally, apparently. But the patient is more East Coast, he tells me, and Doc is more West Coast (I actually disagree with him...he had a distinct Biggie Smalls thing going on the tracks he laid down). I said, well, that works out, because, frankly, I'm more Dirty South.

We also saw this older guy, whose family is totally taking advantage of him and so completely not taking care of him. Every morning he gets just enough money to walk down to the store to get a soda and cigarettes. And then he comes home and sits on the couch and watches TV in this dark, filthy house that reeks of cigarettes and cat urine, with all the curtains drawn tight. Which wasn't quite as bad as the rest home that was our last stop, where, apparently, a lot of our "consumers" (can't call them "patients" anymore, that's not PC) live. Each building we walked into smelled worse than the last. The conditions were awful. It was astonishing.

And then I got back on the plane.

::sigh:: I did get the heel turned on my toe-up Tolerance Sock. So named because I let my obnoxious Family Medicine upper-level knit a row and her tension was all wrong. And then because I missed a few rows of ribbing on the top of the foot. I kept convincing myself that it was NOT worth frogging the whole sock just because it had some quirks. Even though I'm wishing I had about 4 fewer stitches in it. Maybe 8. But then, today, I finished the heel and realized that something had gone horribly, terribly wrong.



I ripped out the heel flap, but you know....I think I'm just going to frog the whole thing and just start over. I love the yarn, and I love working it on the Addi Lace needles...screw tolerance, I want nice socks!