Published On: December 3, 2009

Doctor, Doctor 3

Turns out that once he knew I'd woken up and been moved to a recovery cube, he'd gone to drop off my prescriptions to be filled so we could pick them up on the way home. This made perfect sense, I just wish he'd told someone. Or had his cell phone on. Or, you know, left the bag with my glasses in it with me. But what can you do? So, yes, they wheeled me (who still wasn't supposed to be talking but, yay drugs!) down the hall to the nurse's station so I could whisper to Mom that I was fine. One other thing I wanted to mention about this incident before we move on to another vignette, drugs make you think horrible ideas are awesome. Seriously. Case in point: Because my throat was going to be a bit sore for a week or so, I was on a soft (and cold) food diet. Bring on the puddings, applesauces, popsicles and juices. Everything had to be liquid. And what wasn't (like the Vioxx and Darvocet and whatever else that didn't come in a liquid form) had to be smashed up and mixed into one of the above items (I still have trouble drinking white grape juice thanks to having to dose it with Vioxx every 4 hours). But even as early as the trip home I decided that I couldn't stand the thought of sweets for a week (yeah, I heard myself) but that I knew what I COULD eat that would solve that: baby food. See, this sounded like SUCH a good idea when I was still processing all those meds in my system. So my husband went and got me a variety of baby foods and that first night I was absolutely convinced that I was a freaking genius. (Well, more so than usual.)  Then the morphine wore off. Suddenly I could actually TASTE again and, well, that was enough of that. Don't get me wrong, the sweet potatoes and some of the other veggies were okay but those meat-ish mushes were, just, no. Luckily, a friend of ours had a child just getting into jarred food and we gave her the unopened containers. But really, never trust as idea hatched within 24 hours of surgery.

2 thoughts on “Doctor, Doctor 3

  1. In my early-to-mid teens I once ate a zwiebeck cookie in a fit of snacking desperation while babysitting. In a word? Ptooie!

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