My sweet husband had surgery today. Three hours of someone tugging, sewing, scooping, shaving and repairing all kinds of messed up muscles and bones in his shoulder.
I had a little panic attack about this last night and made him update both of our wills to reflect that we now have a third son. "Why am I doing this again?" he asked. I looked at him as though he had ten heads. To me, it was simple. What if he died in surgery and on my way to identify his body at the hospital, I was in a car crash and I died, too? Surely we needed to update our wills in case that happened.
(Tell me that makes sense to at least one of you out there in blogger land.)
The surgery went great and Aaron was high as a kite in the recovery room. Unfortunately, after we got home, the anesthetic high started to wear off. I gave him his first vicodin and within minutes he was vomiting all of the gatorade, cranberry juice and sprite in his system. To help with that, the doctor changed his prescription to percocet and gave also gave him an Rx for anti-nausea meds.
I read over the drug information for these meds more carefully than normal since these are addictive medicines. Here are two of the "common side effects" of the anti-nausea medicine:
- "unusual bouts of happiness"
- "deep periods of sleep"
I'm thinking I need to get me some of that shoulder surgery.