The unthinkable has happened. My laptop, my baby - my MacBook Pro - is in the shop.
It's been coming on for awhile, and I should note that this laptop is one of the original MacBook Pros (with the Intel duo card). We replaced a battery, perhaps unnecessarily as it turns out, back in August. It had started to very quickly lose its charge, within about 10-15 minutes. (Was a cat to blame? Hmmm....)
Last month, I began to have problems with the power adapter, while hubby was on the road with work. As long as the adapter was plugged in, everything was fine, except that the light did not illuminate on the adapter as it should have. Then it stopped charging the battery altogether. Some basic troubleshooting, a few hard resets (taking out the battery and going through certain steps) later and it worked again for a week or so.
When it failed again, and nothing could revive its former vigor, I logged a call with Apple support. The gentleman in India went through the symptoms and announced that I had a bad adapter and that he could authorize a discount, which helped because the laptop is no longer under warranty. The adapter came in within a couple of days. I hooked it up - no luck. When an email came in asking how the support call went, I let them know that my problem was not solved and that I was not a happy customer. NO response.
We ordered a new battery, thinking that this one had bitten the dust. (Problems with the laptop batteries are legendary). It arrived and I connected everything. NO luck. Argh.
So I gave in to hubby's insistence that we take the laptop to the pros (called "geniuses") at the Apple store in Bethesda. We made a day trip of it today, with me stopping in at my office and us both having lunch with the gang from work. The verdict? The laptop either has a bad power card or a bad logic card (the latter of which my son had diagnosed, perhaps correctly as it turns out).
My laptop is now in the laptop hospital in Bethesda on life support. The geniuses are doing everything they can, and though I backed up everything of importance, I am as nervous as a loved one in the surgical waiting area of a cardiac ward. When the phone rings, I jump. Is it the nurse giving me an update? Does the doctor really know what he's doing? Will my baby be okay? That baby is my right arm. It has been with me through many first and second drafts. It responds only to me (with the correct password).
I close my eyes and imagine it lying there under a metallic sheet, barely chugging along. I imagine all sorts of wires and tubes (well, maybe not tubes) hooked to it as it is diagnosed and operated on. What will they do with the spent body part? Will it be melted down and recycled? Will there be rejection issues with the new body part? Will my baby's right arm (aka logic board) be forever foreign? Stitched in there like Frankenstein's monster?
I go to dreamland a sad woman tonight. I keep waiting for the phone to ring, letting me know that my baby will live. I await the notice of a discharge (aka shipping) date, when my baby will be home and in my lap again. Oh, woe is me...
Meanwhile, I've got a Windows keyboard to hold, as if it could replace my baby, Apple (Gweneth copied me)!!! Why, the unit to which this keyboard is attached isn't even ambulatory! Scary, isn't it? I'm strapped to a desk, all because my real baby is sick.
So you'll just have to forgive me if you don't see me around much. I'll be right here, by the phone, chained to a desk, waiting.
Peace - D