I awoke...with the WORST BREATH OF THE DAY.
...that's a Scope Mouthwash commercial.
Yesterday, we talked about my pre-op experience…
… and how I believe there was some kind of swinging calcific-tendonitis orgy going on in the operating room...
...whilst I was dreaming about a colonoscopy and full dental exam.
...just a strange coincidence?
Today, is Post-Op…
…(where we raise the question: Why don’t my farts make noise anymore?
But I digress…
I woke up in the recovery room feeling like Lindsay Lohan on a Wednesday night:
3) Some strange guy in scrubs nibbling my earlobe
4) I had a sore vagina, and my hospital bed was crashed into a tree
(wait...I've got a new vagina?!?!? There IS a GOD!!!)
I glanced over to my left, where another patient was also just awakening.
“Ah,” I thought, “A friend!”
I decided to make conversation:
My brain said: “So…what are you in here for?”
This is what I TRIED to ask.
However, I was JUST waking up from full anesthesia...
...and my mouth really wasn’t quite up to the task…
(like when you bargain down a prostitute on her blow job price…sure, the lips move, but there’s really no effort when you short them that extra $5)
...with my mouth-brain disconnect, it sounded like this:
Me: “Shoo…whabba yoodin ar foo?”
I'm MushMouth from the "Fat Albert and the Cosby Kids."
The guy looked at me and said:
Other guy: “I haama needun.”
Ah…he’d been bargained down, too.
I had no idea what “I haama needun” actually meant…
…but later on went onto Alta Vista’s Babelfish translator and plugged in the phrase…
(translating from "Post-Op Jibberish to English")
He had his knee done.
Realizing that we both sounded like presenters at the Special Olympics...
...and not really wanting to engage in any more conversation where I’d actually have to consider this acclimating to an accent...
...I decide to simply shut the f*ck up for the rest of my recovery.
I hate accents…
...and now I actually had one that made me sound like Young Frankenstein singing “Putting on the Ritz.”
My wife showed up shortly after...
...with the obvious depression that comes with seeing that your husband has survived the operation.
She sat to the right of me.
This is fairly important because if you read my pre-op post, you’ll know that they injected me with a nerve block.
This nerve block completely paralyzed all my muscles on the left side of my neck and arm.
As I turned to the right to look at her, the muscles on the left side of my neck failed to comply…
…and my head violently plopped backwards like I was a 5’2” tall Pez dispenser.
Me: “Hi honey...how are you....Waaaaaa….!”
I tried it again…head up, look to the left, turn to the ri…riiii….riiiiiiiiiiiiGGGHHHH!!!
This is great.
The most disturbing part of this is that my left arm REFUSED to move.
On a serious note (mark your calendar, these don’t come often here), I realized how horrible it must feel like to WANT to move something…but be unable to.
Typically, Levitra or Cialis cures this problem for me…
…but I don’t think they make stuff like that for your fingers.
(On the very bright side, I was able to play my left hand as “The Stranger” during my late-night masturbation session)
I received the following orders prior to my leaving the hospital:
1) Take my Percocet every 6 hours
2) Take my anti-anflammatory medication every 12 hours.
Take two more Percocets every twelve hours as well.
3) No showering for 48 hours.
Take another Percocet…
...then continue to sit in my own stank.
Great…can I go now?
I was still in my Johnny, completely buck-ass naked except for the words “Nurse Smith was here” written on the backside of my testicles
(this was discovered at around 10p.m by “The Stranger”)
With my left arm paralyzed, my wife had the wonderful task of trying to stuff me back into my clothes.
As she was hiking my underwear up past my glorious junk, she looked up at me and said:
Wife: “Yeah…and you wanted Rob to bring you here today?”
Um…yeah, actually, I did.
That would have been awkward.
Me: “Hey, Rob…thanks for bringing me today for this and hanging out. You’re a true friend. Now, be a doll and help me stick my dink and balls in my boxer-briefs, would ya?”
I think we dodged a bullet there.
As I was checking out, I asked the nurse how it went.
Nurse: "Well, the doctor scoped your shoulder, and then raised the bone."
He raised the bone.
I KNEW IT.
I had a feeling that the sex swing didn't belong in the Operating Room.
I hope "The Stranger" doesn't get jealous.
Friday, March 07, 2008