“*Everybody* Must Get ‘Stoned’?!”, Part *&^%$#@!!!!!!

So there I was, between temp. assignments, thinking that I’d have plenty of time to get the apartment cleaned and the kitchen kashered for Pesach and get all the shopping done. Famous last words. Last Tuesday, at about 1 AM, my husband landed himself in the Emergency Room with a constricted esophagus—he’s been having trouble swallowing for about a year and a half—and stayed there until about 7 the next night. We ended up cleaning and shopping almost until Shabbos. I threw something remotely resembling Shabbos dinner together at the last possible second while the hubby was doing the last of the shopping. We barely made it under the wire.

Yesterday, I figured that the hubby was feeling well enough that we could finally take out some real plates, instead of paper, and have a nice Shabbat Yom Sh’vi-i shel Pesach and Acharon shel Pesach. Famous last words. Yesterday afternoon, I came home from my annual torture session with the ophthalmologist—I’m sensitive to light even without dilation drops in my eyes—to find that my husband was beginning to feel the effects of his 5,464th kidney stone. I lay down to try to help my eyes recover—that usually takes me at least three hours—but, within an hour, broad-brimmed hat parked on my head as my only eye protection (I broke my sunglasses and haven’t found a decent replacement) and backpack full of nuts, dried fruit, matzah and macaroons—not to mention chocolate to keep me awake—we were en route to the Emergency Room yet again.

On the other hand, it could be worse—I spent Wednesday in a hospital waiting room distracting one of my girlfriends while her husband underwent six hours of open-heart surgery. (He's recovering nicely, baruch haShem.)

My Mi-Sheh-Berach list is growing by leaps and bounds. :(

So much for a Moed Tov. :(