I’m supposed to be writing more of the Hope Series this morning, but I can’t find it in me to concentrate. Even as I type this, my husband of twenty-five years is going under the surgical knife for an inguinal hernia repair.
It’s not precisely major surgery but it involves a general anesthetic, which always means risk. And he’s mine…
That might be what was churning through his own grey matter this morning in the bathroom. I was brushing my teeth, when I became arrested by the expression on his face that was at least ten percent sober.
“If something happens to me,” he said, “I’d want you to find someone else and get married again.”
Ha! Like I needed your permission, I thought. But aloud I made all the appropriately soothing noises, which I’m fairly certain will be only a warm-up act for the next couple days. (We all know how men are when they’re feeling under the weather.)
Now, lest you are all thinking that I am a cold, unfeeling woman, and that he could do much better, let me tell you the rest of the story.
I noticed he hadn’t shaved his groin, and asked if that was a purposeful omission. (The last thing you want to do is have your surgery bumped at the last minute because you haven’t followed the pre-op protocol down to the letter.) Turns out he hadn’t received any instructions to that effect. So I explained the manscaping would likely fall to a nurse at the last minute, when he was on the OR table. And do you know what my husband had the temerity to do????
He smiled a wicked smile and waggled his eyebrows at me.
So, P, this blog post’s for you. Yes, you’re financially worth more to me dead than alive, but you better come back to me, you hear. <fist shake> ‘Cause who else will keep the laughter in my life, if not you, my dear uni-balled wonder?
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Best wishes — my father just had hernia surgery (and has hip replacement surgery in a couple of weeks). I’m sure the hubby will do fine (despite his morbid sense of humor); hopefully he won’t upbraid the nursing staff like I did the last time I was coming out of surgery (my wife, an intern at the hospital at the time, was mortified; thankfully, I remember nothing :))
I’m halfway surprised the hubby didn’t request your services, but I’m guessing he knew your hand might ‘accidentally’ slip 😉
Oh, I must’ve missed something, Bane. I thought that WAS his way of requesting Jan’s services.
Knowing my hubby, he’d forego the surgery altogether. No way anyone’s getting that close to his nether regions with a razor. Oh, goodness, I hope he doesn’t read this. 😉
Nevermind, I get it. He was thinking of the nurse. Boy, am I dense sometimes or what?
Bane, how neat. Another medical engineering alliance. I think I’m a cliche.
Thank you for your kind wishes. They mean a lot. Happily, he’s home now, in bed, and although he’s not yet himself, he’s already on the mend. I know this because we had to stop at the 7-11 on the way home from the hospital. Two words: diet Coke. 🙂
Laura, my husband was definitely speaking about the nurses. As for Bane, when he spoke of hands slipping near the groin, I wasn’t sure he was talking scalpels or razors. 😉
scalpels, razors — trust us, it doesn’t matter… Just make sure you give him some TLC, Jan… It’s been a hard day 🙂 – yes, we’re little babies that get to wear big boy clothes, but that why ya love us.
Yup. TLC under way. The man never had it so good. 🙂