There are things we take for granted that are simple yet serve and important function. Witness the aglet, the plastic or metal cap at the ends of a shoelace. It has no intrinsic value, but if you ever lose one, it makes it next to impossible to relace the shoe. On the other end of things, we have things that are, in some fashion, so complex that it's easier not to think of them, like the electrical grid or gravity.

In between these points, we have the human back. Muscle, bone, nerves and connective tissue, all critically important to a variety of processes. Walking, standing, sitting, lifting, turning, there's not much by way of human movement that doesn't, at some stage, involve the back. But, like aglets or gravity, it's something we tend to take for granted.

Usually.

I stopped taking it for granted last weekend, when my lower back decided to remind me just who was in charge. I have no idea what caused the problem (the wife thinks it was an awkward movement while separating car seat and stroller, which sounds about right), but the results were not long in coming:

Friday afternoon: Felt a twinge, took two Aleve. In past moments of back and hip discomfort, this usually takes care of things.

Friday night: Twinge is still there, maybe even a little worse. Took another Aleve, put a couple pillows behind me for support when sitting, but no other changes.

Saturday morning: Getting out of bed requires a variety of hand holds on any furniture within arm's length. I can walk - barely - with a fair amount of pain and over short distances, using the wall for support. When upright, I can feel the muscles in my lower back seize up, which is a new experience for me.

We try a heat pad to loosen things up, but it doesn't work. So it's off to spend our Saturday morning at the hospital. But when we get there, we discover that they're running some sort of disaster drill. We're stopped as we turn into the road that leads to the hospital, and asked if we're there for the drill or actual care. We reply the latter, and are given a green tag for the dashboard. This allows us to get by the next two checkpoints, but we do have to weave through a variety of first responders, volunteers and emergency vehicles to actually get to the Emergency drop-off.

Which, of course, is manned by someone who is also checking to see if people are there for the drill or for treatment. The guy asks me to stop at the door, but before he can say anything else a woman comes by and he leaves with her. I think he intended that I'd wait for him to return. I did not. He actually followed me into the ER when he was done with the woman, so if nothing else if we do have a disaster up here, we certainly have the right people to handle traffic flow, if nothing else.

Saturday morning is thr right time to go to the Beverly Hospital ER, as our entire visit was no longer than 90 minutes. It wasn't especially crowded; there was one mother with two kids who spent more time on her cell phone than minding her kids, one of whom apparently needed some sort of medication, and a woman who I know but haven't seen in some time, who chatted with the wife while I was being seen.

(The wife gets this semi-regularly, running into people she doesn't really know but who know me and know that we're married. Though in this case I don't know why the woman just didn't say hi while I was out there.)

Anyway, I get called and spend the next 20 minutes sitting in a room wearing shorts and a johnnie (I think we can all be thankful that they let me keep my shorts on). In this time, the woman with the kids winds up down the hall, and in the 20 minutes I was waiting they managed to get the nurse manager to come in and cause a panic when one of the kids yanked the emergency call switch in the room. Things quieted down after that; I assume the hospital had someone babysit the room from that point.

Once the doctor showed up, he spent about five minutes checking breathing, heart beat and leg movement before deciding it was a muscle problem and not an issue with discs or the like. I got various scrips and was sent packing.

And by that afternoon, I felt pretty good, well enough to hang out downstairs as if nothing happened. Which worked well, for a while. But it wasn't too long before things locked up again, at which point I put myself to bed... for nearly three days. This is the longest period I've ever spent laid up like that, and I don't recommend it. As bad as it was for me, I was also mad that I'd put the wife in a position where she had to do all the work with the baby and take care of me. I tried to minimize the amount of time she needed with me, but it was still hard on her, and I'm grateful - but not surprised - that she managed the situation in fine form. I think she only wanted to kill me once. Maybe twice.

But as the saying goes, time - and drugs - heal all woujnds, and by Wednesday I was able to get around enough to go to the baby's two month check up and into work. I'm still a little tender with some movements (getting into the car, for example), but I'd say I'm 85 percent and rising.

So whatever you plan on doing today, take a second to think about your back, and where you'd be if you were stuck on it for the weekend (and not in a good way).

This is the 2000th post in Blogalicious history, so I'll recognize that milestone by writing about a much larger one: how we left the house on Thursday as a two-person family and returned on Monday as a three-person family.

Before Thursday - The wife had appointments on Monday and Wednesday, the upshot being the baby was pretty damn big (estimated 9 pounds 14 ounces) and had to come out. Induction was planned for Thursday, causing us to scramble a bit to tie up loose ends and make ourselves marginally less ill prepared for being parents.

Thursday - Got to the hospital at 7 am, and by 7:30 the wife was hooked up to IVs delivering, among other things, oxytocin, a hormone used to kick-start labor. Prior to this we did have a discussion with the OB on call regarding c-sections, as he had some concerns related to the potential size of the baby and potential injuries from shoulder dystocia. We decided to give induction a go and see where it led.

It led nowhere, or at least to a place in its neighborhood. After 12 hours, there were no contractions to speak of, only some back pain. While you hear that labor with the first baby is long, this was a little dispiriting. The new OB on call came in and went back over the issues we'd talked about in the morning, allowing us to weigh the options between continuing induction or going with a c-section. We finally decided to go with a c-section, thinking that the results of the induction was a sign that a standard delivery might not be the best choice.

Once the decision was made, things moved swiftly. The c-section, paraprhasing the description given to us, was five minutes of prep, five to ten minutes to get the kid out, and a half hour of putting my wife back the way she was found. The wife was wheeled to the OR, and during her prep I got to put on scrubs. Let's just say that there are apparently not that many large surgeons, or if there are they get their scrubs to order. The best fitting part of the entire outfit were the booties I put over my shoes, a bad sign indeed.

I went into the OR, where most of the wife was flanked by surgeons and nurses, so I (thankfully) did not get to see what was going on there. I was seated up by her head, where there was a drape up to keep us from seeing the gory bits. I fought to keep myself from sliding off the stool - scrubs and polished metal seats don't interact well - while the wife was trying to scratch her nose against the inside of the oxygen mask. We were quite a pair.

And, as described, within ten minutes of my arrival we had a baby (sadly, if it had been later we would not have gotten him for free). And, as my wife thought, we had a boy with a pretty full head of hair (pregnancy heartburn signifying hair is apparently not an old wives' tale). He was crying away, which is understandable given that things were now awfully cold and bright.

But the first thing I really noticed about him was his umbilical cord. It was huge. The doctor who delivered him compared it to a garden hose in size, and the nurse in charge of cutting it was a bit puzzled at first with how she was going to do it (I wanted no part of it, as I've never quite bought into the dad cutting the cord thing). Once that got done (and once he celebrated his own arrival by shooting off his personal water cannon, so to speak), we were off to the nursery.

Once there, they confirmed the OR staff's statements that we did, indeed, have a big baby. He weighed in at 9 pounds 6 ounces, and while that was a half pound off of the ultrasound estimate, it's safe to say that he was big enough that a standard delivery would have been harrowing for mother and child alike. At some point both of us wound up back down in recovery with the wife, and after a few minutes of getting acquainted we all made our way up to the room we'd call home for the next few days.

Friday - During our first round of doctor visits, our OB stopped in and asked how Thor was doing.

Thor?

Turns out that when the delivering doctor asked us what we were going to name our son, the wife said Thor, spoofing on his size (though he does not have long, blonde hair, nor does he wield a hammer). The doctor went and put that on the chart, in what I hope was him going along with the joke. Then again, with some of the names bestowed upon kids now, Thor might not be that bad.

Still, it did raise a point - we had not yet decided what to name the kid. By the time we made a decision, the kid had three nicknames - Thor, Jethro (courtesy of my brother) and Cheeks, which was given by one of the nurses given his big, round cheeks. After some discussion, we did what my dad did with me, and used the reverse of the paternal grandfather's name, landing us with Joseph John Coen.

The rest of the day was spent resting and getting used to young Joe's rhythms for eating and excreting. We got a first-hand introduction to meconium (NSFLunch) that night, and after I changed the diaper solo Joe gave us a second first-hand intro twenty minutes later, one that was a three-person job to remedy. This, in combination with the Egypt-themed book I was reading would lead to a fourth nickname, Poopenkhamun. I still use this when the dreaded "curse" has claimed another innocent diaper.

Saturday - Another day resting and getting used to our son. The wife was recuperating pretty well, and was able to move around much more than the day before. We had our first spate of family visitors outside of my in-laws, who'd come down on Thursday morning in anticipation of a new grandchild. We also made the decision to bottle feed, which was difficult given the strong preference given to breastfeeding in our birthing class and in pretty much every pregnancy publication out there. I will give big ups here to the nurses and lactation consultants at the hospital, as they worked hard to help us get to a decision and fully supported it once it was made.

Sunday - We were all getting a little bored with the hospital by this point, and while we could have stayed until Tuesday, we decided to leave on Monday. I'll admit to being a little worried about not taking our full compliment of days, as I figured one more day of nurses to help with the baby and take care of the wife's incision couldn't hurt. But with the baby getting a clean bill of health and the wife recovering well (by this point managing post-op pain with ibuprofen only), there wasn't much point in staying.

This being our last night, we got to enjoy the hospital's traditional celebration dinner, which is a couple steps up from their regular fare (though their regular food wasn't bad, certainly better than what you'd think of from hospital food). I can't say I ever expected to have rack of lamb at a hospital, but they did a nice job with it.

It was also my last night sleeping in the convertable chair provided so dads can stay over. I did stay every night, more for the wife's sake than the baby's, as the baby went back to the nursery for overnights. That's apparently a somewhat controversial practice, as there's a strong school of thought that the parents should room in with the baby as much as possible. My thinking is that the last thing the wife needed while on the mend was the baby waking her up at some ungodly hour. There'd be enough time for that once we got home.

Anyway, the convertable chairs aren't particularly comfortable, but I've slept in worse.

Monday - There's an odd feeling to leaving the hospital with a baby. Both the wife and I were expecting that someone would stop us before the maternity ward doors, knowing that we're not as prepared as we'd like to care for a newborn. But as we pushed the call button to let us out, no one came running to save the baby from his parents. The doors swung open, and we walked out into our new life together.

It' s been a big week for baby news, with today being the fourth day in a row of various appointments.

Monday saw us attend our first birthing class. We're one of six couples, all first-timers, who are looking to get the low down on how this is going to play out. We're the only couple who doesn't know our child's gender, while there's another couple who are the only one going the natural childbirth route.

And by the information imparted in our first class, good luck to them. We didn't even get into pushing and it already looks painful. Suffice it to say that if the purpose of the class is to ease our fears about the birthing process, it's not being wholly successful.

We were also given homework, and what better way to do it than solicit feedback on the Internet? For those of you out there who've been through this, what relaxation techniques or practices did you use during labor?

Tuesday was a follow up visit that I didn't attend.

Wednesday was yet another ultrasound, where we got estimated weight and they did a check on the level of amniotic fluid. Not sure why our doctor asked for that, though given the estimated weight of 3 pounds, 14 ounces, he might have worried about there being enough room. Compare that weight to the average for week 30. Of course, I've also read that fetal weight estimates from ultrasounds can be up to a pound off. Let's just hope in our case it's not a pound low.

I've slowly become resigned to the fact that the ultrasounds are never going to be as clear as I would like. Still, facial features were a bit more obvious this time around, which is something.

Today we're back to our OB (actually the practice's midwife, our doctor is on vacation), and we're apparently moving into visits every 2 weeks now. No surprises expected, but I guess you never really expect a surprise, do you?

One unfortunate trend here over the last few months is the lack of posts that aren't college football or book related. There are a variety of reasons for this, most of which fall back on personal motivation to think of or find interesting things to write about.

I am happy to say, though, that this will not be a problem in 2009, or for many years after that, as the wife and I are expecting our first child in May. Feel free to celebrate or recoil in horror as you see fit.

Things have progressed relatively normally since we got official/medical confirmation that the oven was enbunned, as our doctor has been very positive about the various tests and examinations we've had to date. The only hiccup came in our last ultrasound, which uncovered an echogenic intracardiac foci, which can serve as a marker for Down's syndrome or other chromasomal disorders in a small number of cases.

We'd done a test in the first trimester to get an estimated risk for Down's and trisomy 18, and both were very low, so while we're likely to be among the vast majority of cases where there's no larger issue, we are getting a level II ultrasound this week just to check things out. Apparently the EIF thing is one of the ways to drive expectant parents crazy during the second trimester.

So, all things being equal, so far so good.

As far as gender goes, we expect the child will have one, but we're opting to not find out until the kid comes out. Doing this does prevent us from using our working titles - Owen for a boy, Rowan for a girl (say the potential full names out loud if you don't get why they're just working titles). So we're going with Little Coen for now, which I fear will stick as a nickname.

For actual names, we're going with Lucy Catherine if we have a girl. If it's a boy... we'll get back to you.

The wife is coping pretty well with things. She's past the nausea, thankfully, but she's traded that in for more frequent trips to the bathroom (a trade I think she'd make any day of the week). She's also achier than normal, and is finding it more difficult to find a comfortable sleeping position. She's also finding her work clothes are beginning to not fit, which she'd find more problematic if it didn't give her a reason to go shopping.

We're starting to evaluate the logistical end of things as well. We know what room we'll use as a nursery, but have yet to really get our heads around the quantity and variety of things we'll need to get to properly care for the kid. More on the joys and frustrations of buying furniture, clothing, and other miscellany as we go forward.

Part of me is still not quite realizing that this is, in fact, happening. There's another part that's more or less terrified. But then there's the third part that's looking forward to greeting a new person into our family, and I'm happy to say that's the part that's winning out.

I'm doubly screwed.

I'm screwed.

Sorry for the disappearing act, but between the surgery and Monday I was down to one hand, and I quickly decided not to type more than necessary. On Monday they took off the bandages and took out most of the stitches, but the two fingers that were bent needed a couple of days to get used to being on the outside. Thankfully, they didn't go all Brooks Hatlen on me and have taken to life back on the outside as well as can be expected. I'm now pretty much at the same place I was the day before the surgery, but with the promise of increased sensation and function in the index finger as time moves along.

It would figure that we'd have our first two big storms the week I couldn't shovel. The wife did a great job in my stead, and our neighbor's son helped out by taking a pass with his snowblower on Sunday morning. The best I could do was help clear off the car, as that's a bit easier to do one-handed.

On the whole, I wouldn't recommend the experience. But it does give one a newfound respect for the importance of having both hands.

A quick one-handed update: had surgery on Friday, seems to have gone well. I got into the hospital at 6:30 and was home by 11, and likely would have been out earlier if my doctor hadn't been late (a rarity for him, from what the other docs were saying). I remember very little thanks to the sedation. I do recall not feeling my left arm at one point, which would have been pretty disconcerting under normal circumstances.

For the next week to 10 days I'll have my left index and middle finger at rougly a 90 degree angle to my palm, so as to not put tension on the nerve. It's not particularly comfortable, but it could be worse. I do have a sling I'm supposed to wear, but around the house I've mosly just been keeping it elevated.

Otherwise, it's pretty similar to the first few days I had the brace with the original stitches. I'll try not to kill myself buttoning my pants.

For the first time since Wednesday, I'm home. What happened in between?

Finger - I spent part of Wednesday morning having the final couple of stitches removed, as things had closed up well enough to allow the job to finish. Much less painful than the first destitching, though I still have to keep things covered as there's still some closing up that needs to happen.

This is expected to happen over the next couple of weeks, which will be just in time to have the finger cut open again to fix the nerve. Surgery is scheduled for December 7, and I'm a little concerned because it appears I'll be knocked out in some fashion for it. Seems like overkill for working on a finger.

Turkey - went down to my sister in law's and stuffed myself with the requisite amount of holiday food (a quick plug here for Spinelli's, a function hall and baker in East Boston and Lynnfield, from whom we got a blueberry pie, a pumpkin pie, and a Black Forest cake). I also watched about 30 hours of football, although none in person, which was too bad given the nice weather (another quick plug here for the high school alma mater, who won their conference with a Turkey Day win over dreaded rival Georgetown, and will play Brighton High School in the first round of the playoffs on Tuesday).

Gotham - Yesterday we drove down to NYC to attend the BU-Cornell hockey game at Madison Square Garden. Traffic was awful (everyone in Connecticut was on Route 95 at some point yesterday afternoon), so we got to the hotel later than hoped.

We wound up staying at the Millenium Hilton, which is most notable for overlooking Ground Zero. We got a very good look into the construction site from our room on the 29th floor, but didn't have much of a chance to walk around the site (to the extent that one can).

We took the subway uptown and got off so we could walk over to Rockefeller Center. The tree wasn't lit, but there was skating and at least half of the people who were on Route 95 in Connecticut earlier in the day were there doing the same thing that we were doing.

After extricating ourselves we walked back down to MSG, met up with Chris (i.e. the Grim Reaper of occasional comment fame) and got to our seats... eventually. It's a odd system they use, as there are four "towers" with escalators, which you get off of when you get a floor with your "gate" number on it. It actually didn't work too badly going up (initial confusion notwithstanding), but going down there was a bit of congestion.

MSG bills itself as the World's Most Famous Arena, which is about the best thing you can say for it. It is on the old side, has a very interesting odor (left over from the years of circuses and boxing, I'd imagine), and the seating is done up in a very unappealing purple and teal upholstery which is made out of some sort of rubberized burlap. The sound works very well, at least in terms of volume, though I think at one point someone from JFK called and complained that they couldn't hear the jets take off.

The game went surprisingly well, as the Icedogs scored three in the first en route to a 6-3 win in front of a partisan Cornell crowd. Out of the 18,200 there for the game, I'd say about 16,500 of them were rooting for Cornell. We also heard the Cornell alma mater about 40 times, which is more than I've heard the BU song in 20 years (which is fine, as I'm not a big "Clarissima" fan). They even had Cornell folks locking arms and swaying while singing the song, which I don't think you'd see BU folks do without getting paid.

Not much else to tell of our time, as we went back to the hotel after the game. We did nose around the neighborhood a little in search of a convenience store, and saw St. Paul's Church, which looked interesting, but didn't think that sightseeing at midnight was such a good idea. I'd have liked to have had an extra day, but between the holiday, work for the wife, and the expense of staying down there it wasn't going to happen.

So the good news is that I'm now up to 1.5 hands, as I've had the splint off since Sunday and I've been able to reincorporate my non-filleted fingers into day to day tasks.

The bad news is that, at some point in the not too distant future, I'll be back down to one hand for at least a couple of weeks. This isn't too unexpected given the nature of the surgery, but what I didn't expect is that for those weeks, the repaired finger will have to be immobilized in a bent position so as not to place undue tension on the nerve, which could stretch it.

(I won't go into the details of the procedure, which at one point used terms like "zig zag stitch" and things that I'd rather not consider happening to my corpus.)

And after that I get to wait 6 to 8 months for the nerve to fully regrow. At which point the doctor I saw estimated I'd have 50 to 60 percent recovery of sensation. Which is enough for the important things, but not enough to get fine sensations. That's better than the ongoing numbness I have going on now, at least.

I'll find out my surgery date in the next couple of days. I'm hoping it'll land when we're closed for the holidays, as that would cause the least amount of disruption with work and other plans. It'd also give me an excuse to lay on the couch and watch bowl games. Not that I need one per se, but if I have one I'll take it.

A cooking tip for you all: if your serrated chef's knife gets stuck in a head of cabbage, work it out slowly and with your free hand nowhere near the knife. Otherwise, your free hand may later look like this:



I will say that this looks a lot better than it did about 22 hours ago. Eight stitches will do that. I managed to cut an artery and apparently a nerve, which will require some sort of microscope-assisted surgery. Fun times ahead.

Oh, and typing with one hand? Not as much fun as you might think.