This weekend we headed up to the land of milk-n-honey, for Paul's surgery, that was scheduled for Monday morning. We got up there on Saturday, and had the chance to spend some time with the family, and friends, and make the most out of an otherwise crummy situation.
Overall, a good weekend. But Monday? Monday, was all business.
Well, sort of.
First of all, I decided I should name the whole thing. You know, it helps having these types of distractions to keep you going. Odd, but true. And since this was all centered around getting some funky-type-of-stitch removed, I decided that #operationremoveafunkystitch should be birthed.
So, bright and crazy-stupid early, 5 a.m. to be exact, we were up and ready to get the party started. And probably the biggest obstacle of our day, was just getting out of my parents house, without tripping the Secret Service off. Because, for reals, my parents house is Ft. Knox.
But we did it!
And then before we knew it, we were back doing what seems like old hat to us. Even though, as we were going over past medical procedures, it dawned on us that 2008 was the last one. 4 years!
You wanna know what's changed in 4 years?
G has a blog now.
So, this one was slightly surprised to see me documenting everything. But hey, I gotta blog everything! Right? Everything?
Okay, not really everything, because you would die if I showed you pictures of the incision. Eeeek.
So, I'm sticking to the fluffy stuff.
It's been a while, since I've seen Paul floating high, and it's hilarious!
And then just like that, he was being wheeled down the hall to the operating room. Blah.
So, what's a loved one to do when they are waiting?
You ALWAYS come prepared, with entertainment.
You make up a whole dramatic scene in your mind, where the nurses and doctors start shouting things like, " STAT!" "CHEM 7!" "SOMEONE GET THE PADDLES, WE'VE GOT A D-FIB!"
You wander the halls just enough, to not get lost, since you can get lost virtually ANYWHERE.
You SERIOUSLY and FOR REALSIE, consider pressing the help button every time you go to the bathroom.
You try out many different seats.
And you drink disgusting hospital coffee, in attempts to curb your LOUD growling stomach.
But thankfully, the moment you are waiting on arrives....
The surgeon, who is a flippin' braniac, Dr. G., finally comes out to talk to me.
She talks fast, she talks smart, and she leaves my little brain wheels spinning. Don't get me wrong, I love her! I believe God sent her smart hands to us, but honestly, if she really knew me, she would think I'm an IDIOT.
A little side-note, she was telling us she will be out of the office next week, because, oh you know, she will be in China, teaching other brilliant-smart people, about their brilliant-smart people stuff, when, suddenly Paul pipes up in his loud-drunk-on-narcotics voice, "WE WILL BE IN MICHIGAN! I'M GOING HUNTING!"
Anyways, she let me know all about the stitch removal and how she left him "open" so he can heal from the inside out. Also, she biopsied some stuff, and hopefully we will get the results on Thursday, and she also wants Paul to come back in and swallow a pill-camera sometime soon. But as far as the reason we came in, that nasty infected stitch, well, it's now officially taken care of!
You know, considering how I've seen Paul in the past, I think I'm always waiting for the other shoe to drop. Will he suddenly start withering away? Will he be in so much pain he can't even look me in the eyes? The fear wants creep in. But I fight it. Through prayer, and my much successful approach to life, called denial.
But as of today, as of now, he is here, and he is good.
So good, McDonald's and his phone were in direct order after surgery.
And I'll take it.
I'll take him any way I can.