Did you click on this post hoping to hear sneaky details about my husband doing illegal drugs? No? Oh good, you know that just because I talk about hand jobs and sister wives doesn’t mean I talk about hardcore drugs. Clearly, YOU GET ME. And I thank you for that.
The truth is The Scottish had oral surgery last week (and was most definitely drugged in the process). He had his remaining three wisdom teeth extracted and some bone grafting done in his upper jaw because of a vacant spot in his mouth from a tooth pulled years ago. The details don’t matter.
The fact is, he had to stick to liquids for ten days following the surgery (let me remind you most of the time it’s a mere 2-5 days), and that meant he had to miss out on THANKSGIVING day food. Horrors, even for a Scotsman. The joke in our family was that of all the people who could benefit by losing weight from an all liquid diet, my hubby is not one of them! Wait, was that a fat joke about me?
I digress because I’m not here to discuss Thanksgiving or how big I look next to my skinny husband, no, I want to share what happened in the recovery room after his surgery.
I browsed blogs on my phone and read in the waiting room for 2.5 hours during The Scottish’s surgery. I wasn’t anxious, (it’s a very
expensive routine surgery), but just ready to get him home and begin recovery.
Finally they called me back to this tiny alcove to wait for his arrival. I sat on the edge of my seat, ready to to see him and hear how it went. When they wheeled him in he looked awful. It was scary. His face was swollen ten times larger than it should be, his eyes were puffy and he could barely open them, and his head bobbled around like he had no control over his neck muscles. I know that putting someone under causes this sort of effect when they wake up, but it was still shocking at first glance. I’m pretty sure the nurse saw my face and told me to think of him as drunk. She has no idea that my husband can drink A LOT and he never looks this out of it.
I was visibly shaken because I’d never see my husband looking so vulnerable. The most major health crisis we’ve endured together has been my emergency back surgery for a herniated disc. He’s seen me writhe on the floor of ER in delirious pain for four plus hours, vomit after morphine, lose all feeling in my legs, pee in a bed pan, wear a back brace, and recover from surgery. I’m grateful that the most sick of I’ve seen The Scottish is with a cold or the flu.
I jumped up and stood by his wheelchair to hold onto his shoulders and let him know I was right there. He kept trying to speak and touch his mouth, presumably because it felt so swollen. I would kiss his head and gently urge him to keep quiet and just bite on his gauze. They told me he wouldn’t remember any of this later on, and they were right.
Soon after he arrived the matter-of-fact nurse launched into her speech about changing the gauze and how the blood can’t drain down his head and how bruising is likely and sure enough I started to get woozy and felt like I was going to faint. GREAT. Just what the situation needed, another patient. I told them I’m a weirdo and I get dizzy even hearing about blood so they brought me some diet coke and forced me to sit down for a while.
The nurse also said that 90% of people with skin as fair as my husband’s puke on their way out to the car post-surgery. AWESOME AGAIN. My two biggest fears, vomit and blood. (This wasn’t going well.) They let us rest together for another 15 minutes or so in the hope that The Scottish would wake up a bit more and look less green before it was time to leave.
I was starting to feel better and began reading over the “do’s and don’ts” list when The Scottish looked at me and said something in a garbled mess that I couldn’t comprehend. “Aurkl gou focay?”
“What? Hunny, I can’t understand what you’re saying. It’s OK, you don’t have to talk right now.” But he said it again and that time I understood him. He asked me, with as much focus as he could muster, “Are you okay?”
I don’t know what was wrong with me but I started to tear up. My husband didn’t know where he was or why he was so out of it, he even thought he saw our dog McKenna in the recovery room, (I know this because he clapped his hands and tried to call to her), he couldn’t make one single coherent sentence or open his eyes fully but he noticed that I wasn’t feeling well and thought enough to ask me how I was doing even though it was him who was supposed to be recovering.
I assured him I was fine and that he shouldn’t worry about me, and that we were going to get him home to bed very soon. He doesn’t remember the doctor coming in later to tell us that everything went really well or the stop at Walgreens that took forever to get his prescriptions filled or the fact that he DIDN’T throw up, or even that I almost fainted. I’ve told him the entire story of that recovery room many times now and he just laughs.
I’ve known The Scottish for 4 years (the anniversary of when we met is the eve of Thanksgiving) but I’ve never seen him like that. This was only a minor surgery, and I can’t imagine what those dealing with a partner’s chronic disease or illness might be feeling but I have the utmost respect for you. Little moments like this put life into perspective.
My husband is the best man I know and I am grateful for every moment spent with him.