The first surprise was the paper underpants. As sexy as I find the backless hospital gown with the butt hanging out, this option has now been nixed. He was handed a pair of paper boxers. Next was the paper hospital gown. Not only was it a new textile, but it wrapped around so there was no possibility of a chance sighting of said bare butt. As I was helping him tie it, we also discovered it had pockets. What would a person need pockets in a hospital gown for? A stray scalpel in case the doctor forgot his? Perhaps some socks to keep your tootsies warm? Maybe some extra underwear in case you didn't get the paper boxers?
Once dressed, the nurse came in and grabbed the attachment from the wall. It looked like a vacuum hose. She stuck it into the pocket and turned it on. Immediately, Scott's paper hospital gown sans boxers inflated like the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man.
The doctor came in to chat with me and, using a Sharpie pen, he illustrated where and how he would be carving up the foot while the nurse made multiple attempts to put in the I.V. Scott was not loving life. Compounding Scott's joy was the anesthesiologist who explained what the anesthesia would do to him and used the word "twilight" which set off the male nurse on whether we were Camp Edward or Camp Jacob. And then he was wheeled off.
Being the plan-ahead girl that I am, I had no Plan B for picking up my 5 year old from school. Being the husband of me, Scott had already warned my parents I would probably call about 11:45 in a panic. Like clockwork, the surgery ended about the time Jaxon was to get out of kindergarten. Fortunately, Grandma had her cancer treatment at the same hospital so they brought him to me about an hour later.
The great thing about anesthesia is that when a person starts to come out of it, they will tell you anything you ask them. Since I've sat through my husband's two other toe surgeries, two endoscopies, and an unnecessary surgery to cool down his boys (I was unknowingly already pregnant), I already had all his secrets. I just listened to him ramble on and on and occasionally gave him a grunt or "mm-hmm."
When he was finally coherent enough to leave, I had collected my 5 year old son, helped the old man into his clothes and went to get the van. Sadly, in the bustle I forgot to grab the souvenir.
No onederwear pics.
(Picture them in blue)