I spent the weekend in San Diego visiting my little sister. My flight left Friday morning, and if you're from the New York metro area you're probably already inwardly groaning. Another big snowstorm hit our fair town late Thursday night into early Friday morning, which meant yours truly - with an 8:29 flight - was slogging through 5 inches of snow before 6:00 a.m. to get to LIRR and the airport.
I should have taken the snowstorm, the 2.5-hour delay, the missed train, the lack of shoveled walks, and all the ensuing airport drama as an omen for the weekend. But I didn't.
Instead, I powered through and my flight actually got off the ground. Napping and two coffees made me feel a bit better about things and I thought a weekend in sunny California would redeem the rocky start. A rainy Saturday forecast put the kibosh on that idea, but my sister and I kept our chins up (and our mouths full of delicious fondue dinner!) and planned on shopping despite the weather. One dressing-room-door mashed finger later (it bled! profusely! but the shop people were so freaked by the blood I felt weird using the bonus bleeder for testing. sigh), and I was beginning to wonder what the hell was going on. I hadn't seen any black cats or walked under any ladders, but the weekend was beginning to feel a bit off.
Saturday night found me excited to try out dinner at Sushi Deli - I'm working hard at learning new food options, now that I'm no longer eating meat. I got out of the car, negotiating the river of water gushing by at the curb, and stood up...only to hear a clatter and a gasp from my sister.
Dex had taken a dive from my pocket, and was floating downstream on a current of rainwater. I dropped to my knee, grabbed him, tossed my bag to my sister, and started wiping him off on every dry clothing surface I could find. I turned him off and proceeded to whack, curse, and rub that little guy - if mouth-to-mouth was an option, I would have done it.
I don't know that he was in the water for more than 10 or 15 seconds, but the little water droplets in the screen couldn't be a good sign. I was heartbroken. I'd had the receiver for just about four weeks and was head-over-heels in love with the gadget. Gone already?! No way could I afford a new $1,000 receiver, and my insurance sure as hell wouldn't cover a new one so soon. I spent dinner pretending I was having a good time, but was totally self-flagellating on the inside - "What a waste! How irresponsible! Shame!"
Once we'd arrived back at their apartment, I dumped poor little Dex in a bowl full of uncooked rice (yes, it did feel a bit like a creepy burial ritual), crossed my fingers, and didn't touch anything until morning.
I waited until the very last minute the next day to take him out of his rice grave. I pressed a button and held it until - miracle! - there was that high-pitched screamy start-up noise. The screen booted, Dex initialized, and HALLELUJAH he found the sensor! I can't remember the last time I felt so relieved about anything. (Maybe pump approval?) I don't think I even realized how much I'd been holding my breath, worried that he would be completely dead.
The rest of the weekend was fun, but I felt like the Dex incident kind of hung over everything. I was constantly patting myself, groping in my purse, confirming that he was safe and snug and working hard at getting all those BG readings.