Tuesday, April 30, 2013

Overmedicators Anonymous

OK, people.  I know you've read this story before, but in anticipation of Jeff's minor surgical procedure next week I give you a retelling of the epic saga of "Husband on Drugs".  And don't worry - I'll have pen and paper in hand in the recovery room next week.  I can't freaking wait!!!

Here ya go:

I know I'm going to get in Big Trouble for posting this, but it's totally worth it.

Jeff recently had to be sedated for a very minor outpatient medical procedure. We knew from his previous sports injury that anesthesia makes him sick. Really, really sick. So we told the nurses his history and they said they'd tell the anesthesiologist to take extra care with the anesthesia.

So off he went to surgery and I waited in the waiting room. When the surgery was finished, they called me into the recovery room to get him ready to go home. Apparently they were a little too generous with the "feel good juice" when they sedated him. He was flying high. Practically levitating over the bed. I had a notepad with me in case I needed to write down anything the doctor or nurses said after the procedure. Below is an honest-to-God, word-for-word exchange that took place between us in the recovery room.

Jeff: (groggy) We were playing Harrisburg or New York or some team from Out West.
LAB: (assuming he's talking about when he played basketball) How did you do?
Jeff: I don’t know, I was looking for the coach.

10 minutes of silence, and then this:

Jeff: …want a chicken biscuit.
LAB: Doctor says no chicken biscuits.
Jeff: 2 chicken biscuits.
LAB: No biscuits.
Jeff: Just go to Chick-fil-a and steal the recipe. Then we can make them at home all we want.

My pencil is poised now, because this is getting good.

Jeff: My son's birthday is the 27th.
LAB: Of December.
Jeff: His birthday is the 27th.
LAB: Yep.
Jeff: His birthday is the 27th.
LAB: Ummm. Yes, it is.
Jeff: His birthday is the 26th. Noooooooooo. His birthday is the 27th. Today is the 19th and the 16th.

Glad we cleared that up. 10 more minutes of silence. I'm figuring the show is over, when he starts up with this one:

Jeff: What are you doing here? I’m in surgery.
LAB: Surgery’s all over.
Jeff: You’re not supposed to be here.
LAB: Surgery’s all over.
Jeff: They haven’t started yet.
LAB: Surgery’s all over.
Jeff: Ohhhhh. Thanks for coming.
Jeff: (grabbing his crotch) Where’s my phone? I just put it down.

I'm laughing so hard I can't imagine how it's not waking him up completely. The nurse comes in to check on him:

Nurse: (to Jeff) Can I remove your IV?
Jeff: My wife has it.
Nurse: No, I need to remove your IV.
Jeff: I showed it to you when I got here.
Nurse: It will just take a second.
Jeff: I don’t have it.
LAB: (to nurse) He thinks you want to check his ID.

Then we have this intelligent exchange in front of the nurse:

Jeff: Can we stop for a chicken biscuit?
LAB: Doctor says no fast food until dinner time.
Jeff: What if I tell them to take their time bringing it to me?

His reasoning skills are actually pretty solid for being on drugs.

Nurse: (to me) Can you wake him up?
LAB: You wake him up, he doesn't like it.
Jeff: (saying the words out loud) Sleep, sleep, sleep.
Nurse: We should probably wake him up.
LAB: He’s not going to wake up.
Jeff: (still saying the words) Sleep, sleep, sleep....First go to sleep, then wake up.
Nurse: Well, just keep trying.

Forty-five minutes later he's slightly more alert. By this time, I can tell the hospital staff is anxious for us to get going. Several people have been in & out of recovery in the time we've been there. But it's not my fault they got him all hopped up on drugs like a crack whore.

Nurse: (to me) Why don't you try to walk him around a little.
LAB: Are you serious? He's 210 pounds of solid muscle and he's still basically asleep.
Nurse: Well, he needs to move around (walks away).
LAB: Super.

So I lugged him up and we did an unsteady lap around the recovery room. The whole time I was thinking that we're lucky to be in the hospital in case he falls on me.

We finished the lap.....and they had removed the damn bed from the room. Bastards tricked us! First they over medicated my man and now we were being evicted. So I dropped him into a chair (literally) and I started putting his shoes on. I noticed his head was lolling from side to side. I'm super pissed, but I just wanted to get out of there. I got him ready and finally a giant orderly showed up with a wheelchair. Thanks, Shamu, where were you for the walking around part? Shamu helped me load him into the car.

He was still passed out on the 30-minute drive home. While I was driving, I was thinking they kicked him out of the hospital because they realized they gave him an overdose of narcotics and they don't want to deal with it. I kept looking over at him in the car but he seemed to be perfectly content. No drool, no shallow breathing, his coloring looks good. I figured he might be OK, but I decided to take him to a different hospital if I saw any symptoms. The previous hospital wasn't getting another shot at him.

We finally got home and I spent 15 minutes getting him from the car to the house. How can someone so fit be so heavy? Note to self: drive SUV instead of tiny convertible for next hospital adventure. I tossed him on the couch, covered him up and checked to make sure he was breathing. I still wasn't sure about the whole OD angle yet (those nurses looked kind of shady to me). He seemed well enough, so after about 30 minutes I figured he was down for the count and I headed to the office for a few hours.

A few hours later he called me at work. He's perfectly alert, like nothing ever happened. He can't figure out why I'm laughing.

And I realized I'm gonna get mileage out of this story for years.


  1. F*cking with the drugged is a beautiful thing!

    1. Especially when it's your straight-laced, super conservative husband who never loses control.

      And NO, I don't know how we ended up married to each other!

  2. That reminds me of when my little brother was in high school. He took a nasty hit on the football field and insisted that I drive him to the ER.

    So he's there, with a broken collar bone and they asked if they could give him a shot for the pain. Not ten seconds after they stick him, his eyes roll back and he starts to grin from ear to ear. He looks up at me and mom and says "Feel my pants...they are soooooo shiny. shiny feels gooooooood"

    Best of luck with the next procedure.

    1. Shiny probably does feel good when you're stoned!