I went to visit him this morning. I think he was trying to smile in this photo.
I stuck around till 1:00 when I had to leave to come back home to get the kids from school. I'm in the back of the cab about a block from the PATH station and he calls to tell me that they might be letting him come home today at 4:00pm
HOORAY (through gritted teeth and with hands clenched)
While I was sitting with him keeping him company there was much moaning and groaning about pain and gas pain.
We took a walk up and down the halls and he is walking fine but the whole time he kept whimpering.
I discovered something about myself during this visit. I'm a smug superior bitch sometimes.
All I kept thinking was "PLEASE! So you had surgery big deal. Suck it up. They cut into you with a tiny laser and made a teeny inscion.
I had two C-Sections and survived labor pains TWICE before MY surgery. They cut me open and pulled a KID out of me. TWICE. TWICE. Do you think after those surgeries I was able to recover in a cushy bed? No, no I was not. Know why? I HAD A KID TO DEAL WITH. I couldn't take a nap, know why? I HAD A KID TO DEAL WITH.
I had a tiny human being who didn't give a rats rear end that I had staples in my stomach or that I was on a morphine drip. He ("they" because remember I did this TWICE) needed to be fed or changed or walked or rocked or sung to.
When you get home you can rest and relax assured that your kick ass wife will have all your needs taken care of and you won't have to worry about a thing.
When I got home I had to take the dog out for a walk and pace the floors with a new baby and be up at all weird hours of the night to feed and change and soothe.
The SECOND surgery I had with the second son I had to deal with a 16 month old and a newborn AND a dog. A week after surgery we took the kids to the Aquarium. My first day home I wasn't even in the door and PJ wanted to sit in my lap. I had to pick him up and rock him in our chair.
When he gets home, he has a grace period of 3 days to moan and groan after that...