Wednesday, July 28, 2010


The Man had surgery last week; apparently, the agonizing pain and lack-of-movement actually was a big deal!. Well, what do you expect from me; despite LOTS of accusations to the contrary, I'm not REALLY a surgeon. (Maybe I should stop wearing scrubs and telling people they can call me 'doctor'...)

Any-vicodin-way, he's all medicated up and demanding things like his painkillers and then insisting I watch his stretching exercises.

I'll be honest with you; I am NOT cut out for the medical profession. I know, with all we've talked about, it still comes as a shock. Have some chocolate and let the pain of my betrayal subside.

Yes. So watching someone who has just had large holes poked in his body grimace and sweat through a brutal set of torture physical therapy exercises makes me feel a little weak and light headed.

Then there's the fact that The Man on codeine is just about as warm and fuzzy as a crocodile with wicked constipation. I'm sorry, The Man, but it's true, all true! on the way home from surgery he was ranting about how we just HAD to sell the rims on the Bitchy German Luxury Vehicle and by God he wouldn't take no for an answer! He was practically foaming at the mouth. For whatever drug addled reason, THAT was his cause.

Sure, he'd just undergone some painful surgery. Sure, he was barely able to move his arm. But the rims on the car?! Well, THEY were causing problems and they. had. to. go. I think he sort of expected me to pull over and break out the tire jack and hurl the offending wheels into a ditch.

And, Friends, if I've learned anything in all my days about People on The Drugs, it's that you CANNOT tell them that the drugs are why they're being crazy. First off, they will NOT believe you. It doesn't matter if they're doing pop-and-lock moves with Elmo from Sesame street (assuming that's out of the norm), you can't be all "Dude, it's cool, it's just the PILLS" because they'll yell at you or accuse you of being a narc or hit you with a brick or something. You really have to pretend that you too, see the purple unicorns and think Cheetos hold the key to eternity.

I know all this. I know it. I do! And I *still* tried to tell The Man that he was whacked out of his skull and to simmer down and look at the pretty trees going past. Didn't matter. Didn't I understand that the RIMS were making the car ride BADLY!? By God, we'd been cheated! CHEATED! Why didn't I care?! And I was always against him and hated him, simply, I just HAD to hate him.


I should have agreed to sell the rims. I should have taken a hammer to them at the gas station. I should have given him ANOTHER pill.

But there is an upside, Friends, there is. See, codeine is like a physics lesson in a pill. (Go ahead kids in P201, I *dare* you to write a report about this!) Basically it works like so:

* If you're sitting on the couch, staring at Whale Wars, odds are, codeine will help you stay on that couch.


*If you're up vacuuming every stray strand of dog hair from behind the couch, codeine will help you continue to do about 465 other random active things.

It's a very tricky tightrope my friends. And well, this is why I took a shower, only to emerge and find The Man having moved the fridge, cleaned off all the crap papers and toys on top of the fridge, and avidly cleaning the BACK OF THE FRIDGE.

For the record, he also:

*cleaned his entire side of the closet.
*did about 78 loads of laundry; I have baskets all over. (It's like Easter, only the baskets are full of clean clothes and not chocolate and you can only guess which I prefer...)
*cleaned the toilets in 3 of our 4 bathrooms
*cleaned the shower
*cleaned the DOG'S EARS (which pretty much constitutes someone drawing the short stick in this house)

He also had several work conversations that he didn't remember the next day. Why doctors don't include helpful incapacitating measures in the take home bag, like a taser, I don't know.

So drugs are bad, kids. Especially when you hallucinate, at night, and force your spouse to remove the shotgun from your hand and walk you back to bed before you blow the poor cat away.

Comments, questions, any medical drama in your house?