No no no, not *that* water.
It’s my damn hot water heater. Or it may be the flue above it.
It may be repairable or it may be scrap. It may be made to limp a long for a little while longer. The “repairable” and “limp along” options are the ones I’d prefer, as the husband is currently out of the country and dealing with plumbing is really something I hate. With a burning, deep-seated primal passion.
We have natural gas, and gas explosions are another fear of mine. A broken gas hot water heater thus nicely translates into a big fucking nightmare in my book. Husband and handyman friends have helped set my mind at ease a little bit and a friend is coming over Monday to check out the beast – and hopefully won’t be issuing a death certificate.
I’m not going to go into detail about the “substituted a match with a burning kitchen towel” flue test, because in hindsight that may not be the smartest decision I made all day. At least I did gleam some valuable information from it, and didn’t burn the house down. Winning.
And lastly, I spent some quality time with the Internet today. Alternating between sites about natural birth, mistrust of the medical profession, c-section mad OB’s, the “we will treat your FVL even if it kills you” and then gas water heaters. It wasn’t exactly the light reading I had envisioned for a lazy Saturday following a fabulous yoga session, but it was entertaining all the same. And quite informational. It’s amazing to me how many people really feel that they can not fully trust their OB’s or doctors, because they are so busy covering their asses liability-wise. One article called it “defensive medicine” and cited quite a few recent studies where it is shown that the practice, while serving to keep lawsuits down, is not in the best interest of the patient. Sad damn state of affairs I’d say.
And on that note, I’m off to put down a fresh towel to catch the water heater drippings for the night, throw a load in the dryer and pretty soon turn into a pumpkin. Party time on the pillow.