Look back and laugh: Going sterile

Back by popular demand, and because this topic has come up on a DS forum I like… here’s my guest post done for M’s blog, which is no longer in publication.  It’s about time we all have a good giggle, and M doesn’t mind if it’s at his expense, just this once.  For real… I asked.

From 9/2009~

I don't remember much about "The Great Snip of 2009". Here is what I do remember: They stuck a needle in my arm and told me they were giving me Valium, then I woke up in a stranger's driveway and immediately went unconscious. The following is RK's interpretation of that event.

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After about 30 minutes, the nurse came to the door and said, “RK?” She looked around the waiting room and I motioned that it was me. She asked if I could come back. I was feeding Kinlee, so it took me a few seconds to gather up the bottle, the diaper bag, my purse, etc. and get to the door. As we walked back, the nurse told me they had given him Valium just before they got started, and he was still “pretty out of it.” She said I needed to help him get dressed. I was thinking that I didn’t know about the Valium or I’d have told him he is very sensitive to sedatives. They left that part out of the post op consultation.

We walked through the door into the procedure room and there he was, lying on the exam table. He was more than “pretty out of it,” he was unconscious. Practically drooling while he snored very deeply. It wasn’t his most sexy moment, though the Cardinals shirt with athletic supporter is an interesting ensemble. And no, I didn’t take a picture of that particular part of the day.

I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do with Kinlee while I attempted put his pants on while he slept. So the nurse held her while I went back downstairs to get the stroller from the van. After I returned, having called Julie (Braska was at her house playing with her buddy Jack) to tell the already funny story and how it was going to make us later getting Braska, I strapped Kinlee in the stroller and set out to dress my unusually floppy husband. It should be noted that the nurse did not assist me at all. Now, she HAD put the jock on, thank goodness, so that’s good, but I would have liked some help.

Luckily M had decided to bring his flannel PJ pants (affectionately referred to as “comfy pants” at our house) because I can’t imagine attempting to put jeans on someone in that condition. The nurse had gone to get a wheelchair while I was working on the trouser task. “We’ve never had this happen before,” she kept saying. “We’ve never had to use a wheelchair before.” When I lifted up a leg to start the pants-on process, M stirred a little. I started to fill him in on the situation, even though it was quite clear that he wasn’t grasping it. But at some point during my description, he said, “Ah dun ned ah weecha. Ahken wahk jes fahn.” Ok, maybe trying to write the slurring won’t work, but imagine the drunkest person you’ve ever seen in a bad B movie and double it. He was WAY out of it. He clearly could NOT “walk just fine.”

He almost fell off the table at least 3 times while I was dressing him, mostly when I was trying to lift his rear end up to get the waist up where it needed to be. There was a bit of lift-n-drop, lift-n-drop going on, yet he slept, only rousing once to say, “Is it done yet?” He ended up in this position.

 

 

 

 

I told him it was over and we were going to figure out how to get him to the van. Again he said, “I don’t need a wheelchair.” Then he added, “Just sit me up.” I told him if he could sit up on his own, then we wouldn’t use the wheelchair. He tried, if you count a feeble grunt with no actual movement to accompany it. “Come on, just sit me up.” I didn’t comply, as it became obvious he was getting ready to be in a puddle on the floor. So I tried to shove him back up on the table more securely.

When the nurse returned with the wheelchair, she said, “He just needs to stand up, then we can get behind him.” I assured her he would not be standing up. She kept saying, “Muncher, Muncher! You need to wake up. It’s time to wake up. You can’t go through the waiting room like this.” Apparently there were a whole day of vasectomy patients behind us, waiting in the room that we’d have to pass through to exit. She didn’t want this picture in their heads before they got to the moment of truth of their own. “Muncher, Muncher! Please wake up just a little. I need you to wake up!”

M was not responding to all this encouragement from the nurse. He was snoring right through it all. But as we scooted his rear around to attempt to get him off the table into the wheelchair, he did manage to say, “I don’t need this wheelchair. I can walk to the van.” I ignored him. I ended up lifting him up completely, with my shoulder in his chest and him slumped over my back to pivot him into the wheelchair. The nurse helped by holding the wheelchair still. I probably shouldn’t have let him plop into the wheelchair quite so roughly, but there wasn’t much I could do about it at that point. I just about ended up in his lap from the momentum of him falling down into it.

The nurse gathered his feet up and straightened his head, like she thought it would stay upright, and then headed out of the room. I grabbed my things and pushed the stroller out behind her. She kept urging him, “Muncher, Muncher! PLEASE sit up straight when we go through the waiting room. Please wake up! You’re making us look bad.” I just followed and smiled at the men who looked nervously at our little parade as we passed through the waiting area and out the front door.

We went down the elevator, M sleeping soundly, Kinlee looking at him like he was green and had 4 noses or something, the nurse still saying, “This never happens. I don’t know why he won’t wake up. We’ve never had this happen before.” I just let her stew a little and didn’t say anything. When we got to the front door of the building, she waited while I went to get the van. I put Kinlee in her seat and brought the van up to the front door. The nurse wheeled him out to the passenger side door, and I told her I wasn’t sure how we were going to get him up high enough to get into the seat. M managed to throw in his 2 cents by saying, “I can get in by myself. Where’s the door?” He was reaching for something to hold onto, yet his hand was only about 3 inches off the arm of the wheelchair, missing it’s mark by over a foot. As much as this was funny to watch, I was kind of wishing he could actually give us some assistance. The nurse pushed him out of the chair from behind while I held his legs stiff so we could turn him with his rear to the van. Then I grabbed him around his thighs and lifted him, again quite roughly, into the van seat. I had thought to recline it so that he could flop back, so we just shoved his feet in enough to shut the door, I buckled him in, and the nurse said, “Good luck.” It wasn’t a comfortable position, but it worked.

I called M’s parents to see if Dad was available, because it was very clear that I was not going to be able to get him out of the car, up the steps to the house, and back to the couch or the bed. I figured since he was in the van, we could just head south 45 minutes and let them help me get him out and recover there for the day. But first we went by Braska’s school to cancel a therapy appointment we had in an hour, and we stopped at QT to get frozen cappuccinos (a fave of me and Julie) to share with her since she’d kept Braska for us. When we got to Julie’s, I left M in the van, in the shade of the driveway, and put the windows down. I brought out a blanket to prop his head up since it didn’t look comfy the way it was. I went in with Kinlee and decided we’d give M a bit to come around a little, maybe avoiding a trip south. Julie and I chatted for a while, about 45 minutes, as I watched him out the front window to make sure he wasn’t stirring around or anything. He didn’t move a muscle.

I loaded up the girls, called Mom to say we were coming, and stopped by home to grab some things. By the time we were in our driveway about 5 minutes later, M was a bit more conscious, asking where we were, saying again that he was fine to walk into the house by himself. He was holding his head up a bit more. But he still couldn’t move his limbs well, and I didn’t want to chance him ending up on the garage floor for the remainder of his recuperation.

We headed down to his parents, and by the time we got there 45 minutes later, almost 2 hours after leaving the clinic, he was more lucid. Dad came out to help him in to the house, but he was able to bear most of his weight on his own.

There were hours more of sleeping, bags of frozen vegetables that his mom deemed “contaminated” and lots of crude jokes at his expense.

 

Footnote: 6/8/2011

This story still makes me chuckle almost 2 years later.  From what I hear—from those who have this on their Top 5 fave stories ever—it’s better if you read it out loud to family.  So feel free… let us know if anyone harms themselves falling out of a chair. Not that we’re legally responsible for such things, mind you, but we’d love to know about it.