I’m home now. Can I just say that the worst part of the whole experience is after the experience? I fancy myself to be a tough guy. But the anesthesia absolutely kicked my ass. I have never been so beat-up as when the surgery was over, and hours later (for the next twenty-eight hours in fact) I was so wickedly nauseous I just couldn’t bear it. But I had to bear it. And to make it worse, I couldn’t keep down any pain medication. And worse than that, I couldn’t pee for hours and hours afterwards. How weird is that? This surgery was the first I’ve ever had, so I didn’t even know that was a possibility. It was very unnerving.
In case you’ve ever heard that song, “I Want to Know What Love Is” by Foreigner (yeh, I had to Google the artist) I’ll tell you what love is. When it became apparent that I was going to be spending a good amount of time hunched over the toilet loosing all of my guts, Anson expressed his true love in the most meaningful way. During my first break lying on the couch, he ran into the bathroom, and cleaned it, focusing on the toilet, where I would be hanging out for a long tortuous time. That’s right. Love expressed through Clorox. Tell a friend.
But still it all went well and I’m on the mend. Thanks to everyone that emailed me and left comments and said prayers. Also, I promise to never write about peeing and vomiting again, unless it is germane to the topic at hand. Then you know, first amendment rights and all that.
Here’s a picture from me that almost got Anson kicked out of the hospital. It was taken right after surgery and I’m pretty sure I’m saying something obscene with my middle finger because when I’m on drugs I turn into a twelve year old. But given the scolding Anson got for taking it from the nurse, I feel obliged to post it. Also the glamourous way I was clearly feeling cannot be kept to myself. Tell me – does that gown/sheet/hairnet/mask combo make me look fat?