Remember earlier this year, when I went on holiday, filmed some of the Best! GoPro Footage! Ever! … and then Terry lost the memory card down the side of my parents’ couch – or so we assumed?
(If you don’t remember any of this, you might want to have a quick read of this post, just to give you some context, and also to fully confirm my status as The Craziest Blogger Who Ever Crazied. I mean, I know that whole, ‘I have health anxiety, and I’m never going to stop talking about it‘ post probably did that already, but seeing as we’re being honest with each other, you may as well know that problems don’t necessarily have to be life-threatening ones for me to lose my tiny mind over them…)
Anyway! The TL:DR of all of this is that the memory card was lost, my parents house was ransacked in the ensuing search for it, and the couch was – quite literally – turned upside down, and thoroughly investigated. If it wasn’t illegal to torture suspects, I’m honestly not sure where this would all have ended, but as it was, after several long hours of searching, during which the couch resolutely refused to give up its secrets, we were forced to admit defeat, and accept that the card probably wasn’t in there, and that we’d lost precious, precious memories, which could never be replaced. (OK, yes, I AM exaggerating now, but only to make myself seem slightly less crazy than I already do.)
That was 8 months ago. You’d think I’d be over it by now, but you’d be wrong about that, because I have NEVER gotten over the loss of that memory card: I mentioned it just a few weeks ago, in fact. (Er, I should probably say here that I’m in no way comparing this to my current situation, obviously: it’s just that you have to change the subject at SOME point, don’t you?) So, fast-forward to yesterday afternoon. Terry and I had gone to the hospital for the first round of blood tests following my Methotrexate injection, and my parents, feeling somewhat helpless in the face of all of the relentless misery (One of the worst things about all of this for me has been the knowledge that I’ve put my family and friends through hell this week. I’m thinking I might have to re-consider those bath bombs I was planning to get them all for Christmas…), did the only thing you really can do under such circumstances: they systematically ripped their couch apart.
(Well, what would YOU have done if your kid had an ectopic pregnancy, I ask you? If your mind DIDN’T just go straight to ‘couch destruction’, I just… I don’t even understand you AT ALL…)
Now, as I said, the couch had already been taken apart to some extent on the evening of The Incident, but this time my dad really went to town on it. He quite literally deconstructed the thing, piece by piece (Ha! Not feeling so clever NOW, couch, are you?!), and would you look at what he found:
IT’S ONLY MY FREAKING MEMORY CARD, PEOPLE! Which had been buried so deeply inside the inner workings of the couch that we would have had no chance of retrieving it had the couch not been completely taken apart in the process.
(The couch, by the way, has had reconstructive surgery, which was pronounced a success. It’s now resting comfortably, and is expected to make a complete recovery. I will send it some flowers once I’ve fully worked through the resentment…)
I haven’t looked at the contents of the card yet: partly because it’s still at my parent’s place, where it’s being kept under close observation (my dad has a cold right now, and as the methotrexate lowers my immune system, I can’t be around people with any kind of illness I could catch), partly because I’m terrified it will end up being totally blank now, but also because I’m actually finding it quite hard even to look at photos from last WEEK without thinking, ‘Oh, you sweet summer child, smiling away as if everything was going to be A-OK…’
But, of course, everything still COULD be A-OK. And although this little bit of good news is a small thing in the great scheme of things, it is, nevertheless, the first piece of good news I’ve had in several long months now, and, as stupid as it might sound, I’m taking it as a sign of good things to come.
In other words, we’ve found the final Horcrux, folks. And 2016? Your reign of terror can’t possibly last forever…