I left Ben's surgery totally bummed out because the whole ordeal was so freaking terrible, I know I'll never get my spider veins fixed or have those giant boobs I've always wanted or even let someone suck out my saddlebags.
Seriously, I'll never elect elective surgery.
When I went out to the (super plush) waiting room, I said good bye to this guy:
And I came back to this guy:
who look like this without the ice pack:
It just sucked, you guys. His face hurt. The percocet made him feel creepy. The ice hurt his nose, but NOT having ice hurt worse. The antibiotics destroyed his stomach. Ibuprofen was not enough to keep the pain at bay, but percocet just made him want to lay in a dim room and whimper. The dissolving packing has not yet started to dissolve, but it is hanging out of his nostril and looks like a black hornet's nest, so he has to wear a gauze pad and looks very Michael Jackson. He's really weak-- we thought he felt okay on Saturday, so we took the kids to the splash park and dinner and then decided to hit up Trader Joes, and Ben almost passed out in the juice aisle, and we had to leave. He said he felt heat strokey (it was like a million degrees outside and so humid you could drink the air) and drank a vat of water in the car with the AC running full blast. Poor guy.
He was much better yesterday:
I was back to nagging him to pick up his own trash and arguing over who had to bathe the little beasts in record time. Phew.