Still feeling a bit under the weather 3 days after surgery, but each day I do feel a little better. Later today, I am going to have the packing removed from my nostrils. If you don't know what that entails, here's some YouTube links. I'm too scared, I refuse to watch them!
I thought I'd get Curtis, my dedicated and hilarious husband, and the blogger behind One-Step Father to give you the low down on how things have been around here the past few days.
You should know that Katie is very dedicated. Even as we sit on deck for her septumstraightenoscopy, she is typing away on her phone. I’m sure she’s tweeting out something or other… check that… she got excited about some offer for eyebrow tattooing. I can deal with a lot, but I’m not so sure about eyebrow tattoos. Katie has expressive brows, and I require them to fully understand the degree of how bad I messed up. She says her eyebrows are wonky because of undiagnosed thyroid issues.
Let me just say that if this is the type of stuff she talks about without being doped up, we are all in for a treat.
Dismissed from the room that is really just a bed behind a curtain, I have lugged my work gear and a bag of Katie’s clothes back to the waiting area. Earlier today, Katie tweeted an inquiry as to whether she should wear a bra or not, and judging by the bag the answer was no. I’m not sure why she even had to ask that question; I've made it quite clear over the years that I saw no need for her to wear bra. It would seem that my expert opinion is not quite as convincing as a doctor’s.
I’m not sure what the best part of the waiting room is, but it might be the bad local morning news on television. Ambulance chasing lawyers and overly-chipper news anchors are everywhere, but we’ve got a reporter that just interviewed a lady about a book she wrote and then stared at the screen to declare, “I’m going out TODAY and buying this book. You better believe that!” You can’t intimidate me into buying anything, man! Also, today on Kristin Chensworth and Michael Strahan’s show, Dido is coming back from the great beyond to do a performance. I really expected to see her in Starbucks serving up some lattes, so good for her. Three minutes in, and I’m convinced these two are drunk.
Let me throw my “Dad Blogger” hat on for a minute. There’s a lady in here with her little girl. The girl has the sweetest little southern accent you can imagine, and is understandably sick of sitting around this waiting room with nothing to do. She keeps asking her mom questions, and this lady is straight up ignoring almost everything the girl says. “Mama, I can see a plane! Do you see it?” (crickets) “Mama, can I look at that book?” (crickets). I’m tempted to say something because it comes across as lazy, and as someone that goes into a borderline rage when I ask a question with no response, I’m vicariously done with this lady.
Finally, I get to head back to see Katie. All she can say is “hurt” which sucks because a) I don’t like her to feel bad and b) all I can really do is rub her feet. Since I’m not totally sure she can feel the foot rub with the anesthesia wearing off, I’m extra helpless. We’re clearly not getting that ham and cheese croissant she wanted.
I want to offer my respect and support to all the people that help the people who are recovering from surgery. On the way home, we dropped off her prescriptions, and I bought her a white cherry Icee. Once we got home, she was able to move about under her own power pretty well! I got her all settled in, and she went promptly to sleep. With hoodie and grocery list, I set out for what can only be described as the most harrowing experience anyone in my house had that day.
First I was off to Wal-Mart, where the convenience of extensive stock and the plague of idiocy collide like a ramp-jumping motorized shopping cart. In ten minutes, I had everything I needed, and twenty minutes later I’m still standing in the checkout line behind not one but two women using coupons that require them to make their purchases separately instead of one primary transaction. Once I was at the front of the line, I assured the cashier that I had brought neither coupons nor price matching circulars.
After picking up another white cherry Icee from the gas station, it was off to pick up Katie’s meds. Another ten minutes of waiting at the drive-thru while the car in front of me couldn’t remember which address their account was set up under (which isn’t remotely sketchy), and I was off to my final stop. On the other side of town, I was at Sonic to pick up a bag of ice. Sonic ice has magical healing powers, in case you didn’t know. The last time I bought it was when Katie was pregnant, and only a few months later the parasitic organism that had been leaching her nutrients was no longer in her body. The only setback is that we had to keep it, and now it talks and crawls into bed with us in the middle of the night.
Finally, I was home, but Katie struggled. She couldn’t swallow, couldn’t sleep well, couldn’t get comfortable. Her mom and I brought up a recliner from downstairs, so she could be as comfortable as possible because sitting up was better than lying down. I hooked her up with a TV tray lined up with all her meds, blankets, and the remote control for the tv. Who says I’m not willing to make sacrifices?
Day two has been better. A good nap, a little less pain, and a little more tolerance for food makes a big difference. We have good family and friends that brought food, company, and free babysitting. The best part is that it won’t be long before Katie can breathe better, sleep better, have more energy, and get back to the blogging that you have been kind enough to read. That’s what Michael Scott would call a “Win-Win-Win.”