On Monday, Jesse was scheduled to have a xanthoma/cyst/who knows what cut out of his arm. He'd had it removed before, and it was no big deal. Just a small little cut. Since it would be a bit bigger cut this time, his doctor recommended doing it after summer when life would be slower and it would have plenty of time to heal. No problem.
Jesse's always a pretty laid back guy and rarely gets nervous and stressed out about stuff. That's my job. When he woke up Monday, I could tell that he was pretty nervous. I had no idea how really stressed out he was until we got to the doctor's office and his blood pressure was 30-40 points higher than normal. Seriously? It's just a little outpatient, local anesthetic, five minute procedure.
When the doctor came in, Jesse asked him how much pain he'd be in afterward. Both the nurse and the doctor reassured him that it wouldn't be bad at all. He continued to pester them about it until the doctor offered him a prescription for pain pills. Happy day!
The nurse got everything ready and started to numb him up as he sat on the exam table (which was angled in a chair position). He looked at the nurse and said, "I think you need to put the table down." I looked over at him and his usually pink face was washed out and sallow. About the time the nurse got the table down he had passed out--eyes rolling back in his head, out for the count. She and I got him settled safely and she sent me out to get another nurse.
His little performance won him two pillows, an ice pack, and an apple juice.
Once he was back to life--and gushing about how wonderful passing out was and the fabulous dream he couldn't remember--she continued to numb him up. The doctor did the procedure--while we had a conversation mixed between the length of Mormon courtships, missions, and Jesse rehashing the passing out experience again and again--and in a few minutes it was over.
I took him home. Except it wasn't really my husband--he had been replaced with a helpless puppy.
He just lay on the couch with his arm propped up for the first day and a half. He needed a slurpee just to survive. He couldn't touch his nose with that arm. He couldn't dry off his back, put on deodorant, or cut up his spaghetti. He needed the Aleve bottle with the arthritis cap. He was told not to do anything strenuous or lift more than 20 lbs with that arm, so I got to pick up the 40 lb bag of birdseed at the store.
The morning we changed the dressing, he threw up in the First Tech parking lot while I was trying to figure out how to refinance our house.
It's been a long week for both of us.
3 comments:
Oh good heavens! How awful. You know, I had two rather large moles removed from my back this summer, and I was SHOCKED at how it affected me. For about three days I was in so much pain from the two 1 and 2 inch incisions, and it took about 3 weeks until I really felt like myself again. I was so surprised something so little could affect me so much. So, I sympathize.
Tell him to buck up...I had hand surgery last Thanksgiving. John changed the twins diapers (which there were TONS of) for a week and then it was back to my turn...Though there was lots I still couldn't do - putting on a bra one handed is not a skill I have mastered. Elastic waist pants are also a great invention! I felt like I should be best friends with the guy at the Gyro place that only has one hand...Good luck Jesse!
Something I've learned . . . it is difficult to blow your nose one handed. I've learned this since I can't touch my nose with with my right hand. --Jesse
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