An epidural it is

The other night I asked Seth to remove a thorn that had lodged itself in my thumb during a gardening stint over the weekend. He did so with great relish. "We'll need a razor!" he quickly exclaimed. But he couldn't find one and settled for the tweezers and a knife. As I was silently and not-so-silently screaming in his ear during the ordeal, he called me a "big baby." And I realized that my hate-affair with pain was a very real, very-much-alive presence in my life. And I wished I had an epidural for the thorn-removal process.

And then I realized that I can't have a baby because it will hurt too much. And then I realized there was no going back. And then I realized I could have epidural for the birthing process. And it made me happy. Now, even though I may not actually have an epidural when the time comes, thinking about it in my epidural-glazed mind's eye makes the idea of pushing a baby out of my body that much easier. An epidural it is.

Thanks to all who commented on my previous post (both in the comments section and in the emails you sent). The information and experiences were all much appreciated--I'm still mulling them all over!

Hypermiling

A few months ago, I read this article in Reader's Digest about a hypermiler. My first impression was that the guy was a freak, over-obsessed with getting good gas mileage. I rather dismissed the message of the article as out-of-touch with the real world. I mean, who shifts into neutral and coasts down hills? Who doesn't ride the brake as they're driving through town?

And then one day when I was riding with Seth, I noticed he was driving a bit oddly. Slow starts. Easy acceleration. Coasting. Driving the speed limit. Unwillingess to brake. I recognized all the signs given in the RD article. My husband is a hypermiler.

Taking off from one stop light in town, we got passed by three minivans. I figured they were probably laughing at the slow little Jetta putting along beside them. Seth didn't seem to care--apparently, he enjoys laughing at them when he passes them, multiple times, while they are filling up at the pump. To his credit, he's increased the Jetta mpg from 42 to over 50, and he thinks he can get 52.

So these are the top 5 rules that I've learned about hypermiling from my non-freakish hypermiling husband. I'm now trying to implement them with the truck, since it gets maybe 14 mpg, on a good day.

1. Don't brake. Ever. Coast.
2. Take 10 minutes to get up to speed, even if top speed is 25 mph.
3. Shift into neutral going down hills. Even tiny hills.
4. Take 10 mintues to drive up a hill. Even tiny hills.
5. Don't turn on the A/C. (I'm sorry, but I draw the line on this one--I need to be cool at all times.)

Happy hypermiling!

To Medicate or Not to Medicate

I do not enjoy pain in any form. In fact, I'll actively seek out any way to avoid pain. When we were young and roller skating on our sidewalk, Kenda and I tied pillows to our derrieres in order to cushion any falls we may have. Given the choice between two activities, I'll choose the one that involves the least amount of pain: skydiving or mountain biking (skydiving--unless, of course, the parachute doesn't open and I'm left hurtling toward the earth at 200 mph. ouch); water skiing or scuba diving (scuba diving--unless, of course, I come up out from the depths too quickly and get the bends. ouch).

I deliberately don't put myself in situations in which I might break something important (such as a body part) or slice something important (such as a body part). The trees I climbed were near to the ground. The bikes I rode were never fast. The places I played in were always safe. The one time I've ever had stitches (I sliced the tiniest part of the tip of my finger while cutting sundried tomatoes), I cried like a baby because the anesthesia hadn't taken effect by the time the nurse took needle in hand. I downed the prescribed painkillers until they were gone, and then wanted another prescription--just in case (I may have been slightly addicted).

Seth, on the other hand, is practically oblivious to pain and takes no care about the situations he finds himself in. Last year he sliced his forearm to the bone on a machine he was fixing and only bothered to get stitches because he was dripping blood everywhere and his supervisor made him. He took the stitches out himself a few days later. When his arm was broken after a mountain biking incident, he took the cast off himself early when he wanted to go scuba diving. He's had several concussions, stitches on his forehead, arms, and legs, and has broken several body parts on numerous occassions. Nothing seems to phase him. Except when he was very young and would tell his mom, "Don't 'pank me." Apparently Mom's spankings hurt.

So, what is an agliophobe to do when said agliophobe has a baby? To medicate or not to medicate, that is the question. I've gone back and forth regarding whether I'll beg for an epidural when the time comes. On the one hand, "natural" childbirth isn't actually "natural": it's a result of the Curse God placed on His creation after Adam sinned. If Eve hadn't messed around with the serpent, we might be popping out babies like there's no tomorrow without a care in the world (however, I realize, as Aslan said in the Narnia book, "There are no what-ifs."). Elsewhere in Scripture, God blesses those who work to overcome the effects of the Curse: peacemakers, doctors, etc. So, if a medication works to overcome the painful effects of the Curse felt in childbirth, why not use it?

On the other hand are the aftereffects of the pain medication on both mother and child. Are they really bad enough to prevent the use of an epidural? Just yesterday, two male coworkers, completely unsolicited and quite apart from each other, advised against the use of medication. (Is there a certain irony in receiving such advice from males who will never undergo the birthing process?) So the debate continues. Anyone else care to weigh in on the issue?

'Tis a Sad Day

Well, sad for Seth. Not so sad for me. In fact, I'm rather ebullient.

Our young neighbor is taking classes at a nearby tech school, training to be an automobile mechanic. He let Seth know that his school accepted donations of old cars for the kids to work on. And Seth finally decided to let go of his beloved T-bird in the interest of helping the kiddos. For years, he's been talking of fixing it up and getting it running again. For years he hasn't done it. And we all know what happens to cars that don't get worked on. They sit in the yard and grass grows up around them, ensuring our entrance in the Holler Hall of Fame.

So, last week I called the school and scheduled a time for them to come pick up the T-bird. I threw in the Mazda 929, too, since it's broken and Seth doesn't want to fix it. Plus, I never really liked that car and it got bad gas mileage.

Last night, he prepared for this morning's car departure. Seth's had the T-bird for 13 years, seven years longer than I've been around, so he's a bit attached to it. And he was a bit sad to see it go. I asked him if he was as happy with me as he had been with the T-bird. He said he'd let me know in seven years. It reminded me of the time my dad was forced to get rid of his beloved Nova. He didn't want to talk about it, either.

This morning the guy from the school came and hauled both cars away. So now we're down to a one-car, one-truck family. Not to worry, though, we're planning on getting another VW--this time Seth wants a standard Golf so he can get 55+ mpg. And I'll inherit the Jetta.

In other news, I got my first free-lance editing gig. I absolutely abhor the tediousness of editing but if it helps to bring in some dough, then I'll do it. Yes, it was a good day all around.