The not-so-long road to recovery…

Be ready for a long weekend, they said.  It’ll be rough, they said.  He will be a handful, they said.

We were ready for every eventuality.  Pain, discomfort, crankiness, bad mood, anger, SIB, dissatisfaction with the status quo and the meals it involved…

First let me say that the surgeon kicks ass.  I would show you the shape and size of those molars, but I honestly don’t want to put anyone through that sight.  Think the size of a big  wasabi bean, and the roots shaped like a jester’s hat.  They are heavy.  They are solid.  They are, I must admit, a wonder of nature.  That the surgeon only had to cut into one of them to get it out is a miracle.  It hurts just to look at them.

J was pretty relaxed when we got home.  Little by little the numbness wore off, but he never really complained.  We could tell he was very much aware of the work that had been done, and we gave him medicine accordingly.  We applied ice packs.  We got him to sit and chill out.  We fed him soft things that went down with a minimum of effort.  He was happy…

We figured he’d get up feeling it a lot more on Saturday.  On Friday night he reorganized his weekly schedule and, in what we thought was a moment of heroism, put up Barnes and Noble, Target, Kroger on the board.  He even put a cinnamon roll on there for good measure.  As we crawled into bed (an exercise in futility because I didn’t sleep a wink waiting for the wailing, screaming, complaining cries emanating from the baby monitor,) we looked at each other and said “you watch…he’ll be in his jammies and cuddled up ALL DAY tomorrow.”

He was up at six a.m. after having slept through the night.  I dashed out of the room (in a daze, of course, because I had not slept…and THAT was an exercise in futility,) and all I found was J sitting on the toilet as he usually is at that hour, and the first thing he said was “COFFEE????”  He wanted US to get up…I told him I was going back to bed.

At ten a.m., after having a rather bland breakfast, he asked to go to all the places he had put on his schedule.  The only thing he didn’t want was the cinnamon roll, but the rest of the excursion was as he planned it…we came home with more Ella Fitzgerald, Louis Armstrong, and other CDs I cannot remember right now.  He was happy.  He came home, ate his soup (with mashed vegetables and mashed noodles,) changed into his pajamas, and chilled out the rest of the day.

For dinner he had gnocchi in a creamy sauce with very finely shredded pork and minutely chopped spinach and mushrooms.

Sunday morning he had very soft sweet potato pancakes, silky scrambled eggs, and -at his insistence- bacon.

The only thing ailing him is a blister on his lip.  He is, as men will, playing up his convalescence to the hilt so he doesn’t have to do chores, but all I have to mention is going back to pudding for his meals…this makes him realize that he’s recovering nicely.

Today he insisted on running with the Wii.  Because, as we know, he will only get a hot dog from Five Guys if he runs with the Wii…  That is HIS logic, not mine.

So the surgeon is a bad-ass.  He did a beautiful job.  The one time we gave J the Lortab with acetaminophen he sounded, very briefly, like both Seth Rogen and James Franco in Pineapple Express.  It didn’t make him sleepy.  It didn’t make him dizzy.  It didn’t do anything other than give him the giggles for ten minutes.

I will not claim that he has been happy and his usual self all this time, but last night we finally heard a spontaneous giggle.  It involved the food on his plate.  He was happy about beef stew and white rice.  I understand why.  It was good beef stew.

So we are as close to normal J as we were on Thursday.  His mood is good; he is healing nicely.  He has forgiven us for the indignities he had to endure in the OR (he WAS the only nude person…hopefully.)

Now we move forward to whatever thing comes next.  Pizza is on his mind.  So are nachos. The crunchy stuff can wait until next week.


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