Thursday, September 6, 2012

Another Perspective

Another Perspective

Yesterday's blog post provided a unique look into the woman who runs this blog. Specifically, a look inside the woman, my wife. She had an endoscopy done to look at her stomach and rule out any issues with it, and the doctor took pictures during the procedure and printed some out for us to take home. The reason I'm writing this blog at my wife's request, however, is because of how hilarious she was coming out of sedation.

The endoscopy was the first two of procedures scheduled this month, with the removal of her stone-ridden gall bladder being the second. She's not in any pain from these gallstones, but she's been dealing with nausea for the past couple of months because of them. The surgeon wanted to rule out any other issues, because her symptoms were unusual--specifically, the lack of pain.

This endoscopy required that she be sedated briefly, a prospect that made my wife very anxious. "You've been under before," I'd argue, "and it turned out fine."

"It's just not natural," she'd retort. Unable to refute that complaint (although unsure of its relevance in the discussion), I would let the matter drop. I know my wife pretty well; she would look back on the whole thing later and wonder, "Why did I get so worked up?" I was right about that.

I took off of work and drove her over to the get the procedure done. We were told to arrive by 10:10 AM; they finally started prepping her an hour later, and the procedure itself started somewhere around noon. The procedure itself only took around 11 minutes, during which the doctor took the pictures featured here yesterday. He came out to the waiting room with the printouts to show me that everything looked good ("Her stomach looks better than me!" he proclaimed), and not long after that, a nurse came out to bring me back to where my wife was recovering.

This is where the day got truly entertaining. My wife has a history of...shall we say, "uniqueness." Back in college when we were dating, she was dealing with a pretty bad cold. She took some Nyquil and laid down for a nap while I worked on fixing some problems with her computer. Spontaneously during her nap, she sat up and looked at me and commented, matter-of-factly, "Did you know there's lava in toothpaste?" When I expressed confusion, she continued, "Lava! Toothpaste! ...maybe not," and fell back asleep. She did not remember this conversation when she woke up again later.

When the nurse came and got me, she told me that my wife had just woken up and was asking about our children; we had taken them to stay with my parents for a couple of nights the day before so we wouldn't have to bore them with hour and hours in the waiting room. We arrive at the recovery area and I step to my wife's side.

"Where are the kids?" she asked groggily.

"They're staying with my parents, remember?"

"Are they safe?"

"Yeah, they're fine."

"Are you sure?"


Momentarily placated, she shortly turned her attention to other matters. "Did they take out my teeth?"

As she was physically touching her teeth with her fingers at the moment, I was surprised at the question. "No, sweetie, they're all still there."

"Really?" she seemed unconvinced as she probed at them with her tongue. Fair enough; a numbing spray had been applied to the back of her throat to help with the passage of the camera. The spray was making her tongue numb as well, and though she could move her tongue, she couldn't feel anything with it. I can imagine that would feel like you were nothing but gums.

"Yes, sweetie, I promise they didn't take any teeth out."

"Okay," she replied, but the nurse and I were both amused to catch her still checking for them every once-in-a-while afterwards, although she never asked again.

"The kids aren't with you?"

At least four more times before her wits fully returned, she would ask about the whereabouts of our kids, confirm they were safe, and confirm the confirmation. It was pretty clear that her long-term memory hadn't kicked back in yet.

Silence fell for a moment as my wife closed her eyes and rested. Out of nowhere, she chuckled slightly. Curious, I pondered whether to ask about it, but given how crazy she was talking lately, decided it was better for both of us if I just let this one go.

My wife volunteered her thoughts immediately after I made this mental decision. "Heh, I'm not punching anybody."

"Did you...think that you were?"

"No, but it's nice to be sure."

All right.

"Did they do it?"

"What, the scope?"


"Yes, sweetheart, you're all done. I even have some pictures you can look at later."

"Oh. And no babies?"

"What?" I was so confused. Did she think babies might have been in her stomach? Did she wonder if the scope also checked for pregnancy?

"The babies aren't with you?" Of course; she's asking where the kids are again.

We did another iteration of our now-well-rehearsed bit, and then the nurse came in to work through discharge papers. Knowing that patients are pretty out of it following the procedure, she's directing the instructions towards me. "Don't drive, operate heavy machinery, sign legal documents, or drink any alcohol for the rest of the day," was one of the items on the list.

"I'm not remembering any of this," the love of my life protested at one point.

"That's why I'm telling your husband," the nurse gently replied. "You're not even going to sign this one; he is."

It wasn't long after working through the discharge papers that my wife's wits finally began to return to her. The first sign was when she declared, "I remember now that the kids are with your parents." Once she was back to herself, the nurse and I enjoyed filling her in on the stuff she said while she was waking up. She remembered very little, only remembering asking about the kids once and not remembering anything else, really.

"Next time," she declared when we were done, "you need to record me with a video camera so I can see how crazy I was afterward!"

I just hope she remembers she gave permission when she's all loopy after her surgery next week, or she might actually end up punching somebody: me!

1 comment:

Barbara said...

Hey, at least she wasn't dancing on the table!
I wonder if this type of reaction is hereditary. I've heard some crazy stories about her dad and anesthesia.

Great blog!