He sat up in bed, looked around the room like he was confused, and said, "It's just a BB gun. What could go wrong?"
I think I'm glad he keeps his guns under serious lock and key.
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Friday, March 19, 2010
It's 3 am I must be...something
In a twist, me winding up in the hospital under the knife was a good thing for the kids, especially Kevin. Neither of us realized how much Char's accident and long hospital stay was still in the back of his mind, but when we told the kids I was having surgery, he had a mini-meltdown. We tried to stress that all that would happen was the removal of what was basically a big, deep zit, but he only heard surgery and hospital.
He understands that as bad as it looked the first time he saw his mother in the hospital, that she recovered, got better, and is fine now, but I don't think any of her progress has erased that horrible feeling he had. He panicked, and there wasn't a whole lot either of us could say to make him feel better.
Alex and Rachel wanted basic information (they got no specifics) and were satisfied with the answers they got, but we weren't sure they felt as good about it as they tried to make us think.
When they told me I was staying overnight, Char called Brad and told him to bring the kids. By then I was awake and alert, a little drugged up but not badly, and while it hurt, I could sit up in bed. Alex and Rachel came in the room as if it was normal; Kevin had to be coaxed in.
His relief was obvious. He was fighting the image in his head of Dad flat on his back with tubes and wires everywhere, but what he saw was Dad sitting up, smiling, one IV line, wearing that ridiculous hospital gown. He wanted to crawl up on the bed with me, and I was prepared to suck it up and let him, but Alex put a hand on his shoulder and stopped him with, They punched a hole in his junk, I don't think you sitting up there will feel very good.
Instead of upsetting him, just the idea of someone doing things to my junk made Kevin laugh.
I don't think Rachel wanted to hear that, though, because she let this long, perfect teenaged girl sigh out, and grumbled that she was ready to go home.
But who would have guessed, our youngest actually needed something like this in order to really grasp that things aren't always ugly at the outset when you're hospitalized.
No announcements; it's almost 3:30 in the morning and I couldn't sleep, and there's no way I'm waking Char up for anything.
He understands that as bad as it looked the first time he saw his mother in the hospital, that she recovered, got better, and is fine now, but I don't think any of her progress has erased that horrible feeling he had. He panicked, and there wasn't a whole lot either of us could say to make him feel better.
Alex and Rachel wanted basic information (they got no specifics) and were satisfied with the answers they got, but we weren't sure they felt as good about it as they tried to make us think.
When they told me I was staying overnight, Char called Brad and told him to bring the kids. By then I was awake and alert, a little drugged up but not badly, and while it hurt, I could sit up in bed. Alex and Rachel came in the room as if it was normal; Kevin had to be coaxed in.
His relief was obvious. He was fighting the image in his head of Dad flat on his back with tubes and wires everywhere, but what he saw was Dad sitting up, smiling, one IV line, wearing that ridiculous hospital gown. He wanted to crawl up on the bed with me, and I was prepared to suck it up and let him, but Alex put a hand on his shoulder and stopped him with, They punched a hole in his junk, I don't think you sitting up there will feel very good.
Instead of upsetting him, just the idea of someone doing things to my junk made Kevin laugh.
I don't think Rachel wanted to hear that, though, because she let this long, perfect teenaged girl sigh out, and grumbled that she was ready to go home.
But who would have guessed, our youngest actually needed something like this in order to really grasp that things aren't always ugly at the outset when you're hospitalized.
No announcements; it's almost 3:30 in the morning and I couldn't sleep, and there's no way I'm waking Char up for anything.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
TMI, TMI, TMI
The last four days have been nothing but TMI. So the whole world (or the half a dozen people who regularly read this blog) know that I had the unfortunate experience of a prolonged erection requiring medical care. Oddly, when you think about being able to keep it up for that long it's hell, yeah, she'll be walking funny tomorrow but the reality is basically awful.
For the record, I don't recommend trying to have sex for nearly four hours; no one walks away from that without some chafing. And yes, we tried everything our perverted brains could think of, but at some point it stopped being fun and I was begging her to just leave.it.alone.
She feels responsible, but really, how could she be? That spur of the moment very horny backrub probably saved me from worse problems later; I'm sore as hell right now, but I realized in the middle of the night I could tell a difference, because I didn't get up to pee three times. The cyst was just big enough (more like a mandarin orange, not like a fist sized tangerine) to press on my bladder, my prostate, and a key blood vessel; I never felt any pain, and never suspected a thing, but not having to get up was a bonus.
The news I did not want to hear upon discharge from the hospital this morning: there's a very slim chance, less than 5%, that I may never get another really good erection. I haven't had one since Monday (no surprise, considering) and won't purposely try for a few more days, but I guarantee if I wake up tomorrow without one, I may cry.
For the record, I don't recommend trying to have sex for nearly four hours; no one walks away from that without some chafing. And yes, we tried everything our perverted brains could think of, but at some point it stopped being fun and I was begging her to just leave.it.alone.
She feels responsible, but really, how could she be? That spur of the moment very horny backrub probably saved me from worse problems later; I'm sore as hell right now, but I realized in the middle of the night I could tell a difference, because I didn't get up to pee three times. The cyst was just big enough (more like a mandarin orange, not like a fist sized tangerine) to press on my bladder, my prostate, and a key blood vessel; I never felt any pain, and never suspected a thing, but not having to get up was a bonus.
The news I did not want to hear upon discharge from the hospital this morning: there's a very slim chance, less than 5%, that I may never get another really good erection. I haven't had one since Monday (no surprise, considering) and won't purposely try for a few more days, but I guarantee if I wake up tomorrow without one, I may cry.
The one where I break my husband's penis
Monday morning I got up early and turned off the alarm to let Ian sleep in; Alex and I were going to take the placement tests, so I thought I'd drop Rachel and Kevin off at school, take the damn tests (yes, damn tests; Alex thinks he did well but I am positive there's someone at that school laughing his ass off at mine) then by the time I got home, he would be up.
He was awake, but not out of bed, when I got back; he was laying in bed with the cats curled up on his chest, and he hadn't gotten up because he didn't want to disturb the, (yes, the cats he says he “hates.”) He had both of them snuggled up to his chin and was watching The View. That's when I should have presumed everything was going to go downhill, but all I thought was how cute it was he was letting the cats sleep on him, and that he'd complained about a back ache on Sunday, so I picked the cats up and put them on a chair, told him to roll over, and started to rub his back.
It honestly started off as just a back rub, but he enjoyed it a little too much...long story short, without the aid of Viagra or Cialis, by one in the afternoon I was freaking out, because I'd broken him, and he was starting to get uncomfortable. His doctor (and that was one of the most uncomfortable phone calls I've ever made, and you can be sure he made me make the call) suggested an ice pack, and if that didn't help; go to the ER.
We wound up at the ER. If I thought the call to the doctor was uncomfortable, telling the 20 year old at the counter was embarrassing as hell. She was as professional as she should have been, but I did notice she couldn't help but peek over to where Ian was miserably hunched over in a chair. They took him right in, which obviously annoyed people who had been there first, but at that point I didn't care. He was moving past uncomfortable into it hurts and I have to admit, I felt responsible.
They tried another ice pack, a muscle relaxant, they tried numbing his entire groin, but nothing was working, so they decided to drain the blood.
If you want to see a grown man try to not cry, tell him you're going to jab him in the penis at least twice to draw out as much blood as possible, and then tell him you're sorry, but you need to stick him a third time.
They wanted to admit him to get a better look at what caused the problem (other than me) but Ian being Ian, he refused and said he'd follow up with his own doctor—which really meant “I feel fine now, and I'm done letting people play with my junk.” So he wasn't thrilled with me when I made him an appointment for Tuesday morning.
Longer story shorter, he had a cyst that was blocking the works. So this morning I dragged him out of the house, not quite kicking and screaming, and he had surgery to remove it. The cyst was big, about the size of a tangerine, and it's surprising it didn't cause him problems or pain before this. Everything went well, but a couple of hours after the surgery he was running a low grade fever, and they decided to keep him. He started to tell them he was going home no matter what, but I convinced him to stay by threatening to tell the kids exactly why he was suddenly having this surgery (all they know is he had some pain, saw the doctor, and the doctor wanted the cyst out.)
I still feel bad about it all, but if he hadn't had this happen now, chances are as the cyst grew and began to slowly press on things more he would have had gradual problems, chalked it up to age, and wound up permanently impotent. And that would not have gone over well at all.
He was awake, but not out of bed, when I got back; he was laying in bed with the cats curled up on his chest, and he hadn't gotten up because he didn't want to disturb the, (yes, the cats he says he “hates.”) He had both of them snuggled up to his chin and was watching The View. That's when I should have presumed everything was going to go downhill, but all I thought was how cute it was he was letting the cats sleep on him, and that he'd complained about a back ache on Sunday, so I picked the cats up and put them on a chair, told him to roll over, and started to rub his back.
It honestly started off as just a back rub, but he enjoyed it a little too much...long story short, without the aid of Viagra or Cialis, by one in the afternoon I was freaking out, because I'd broken him, and he was starting to get uncomfortable. His doctor (and that was one of the most uncomfortable phone calls I've ever made, and you can be sure he made me make the call) suggested an ice pack, and if that didn't help; go to the ER.
We wound up at the ER. If I thought the call to the doctor was uncomfortable, telling the 20 year old at the counter was embarrassing as hell. She was as professional as she should have been, but I did notice she couldn't help but peek over to where Ian was miserably hunched over in a chair. They took him right in, which obviously annoyed people who had been there first, but at that point I didn't care. He was moving past uncomfortable into it hurts and I have to admit, I felt responsible.
They tried another ice pack, a muscle relaxant, they tried numbing his entire groin, but nothing was working, so they decided to drain the blood.
If you want to see a grown man try to not cry, tell him you're going to jab him in the penis at least twice to draw out as much blood as possible, and then tell him you're sorry, but you need to stick him a third time.
They wanted to admit him to get a better look at what caused the problem (other than me) but Ian being Ian, he refused and said he'd follow up with his own doctor—which really meant “I feel fine now, and I'm done letting people play with my junk.” So he wasn't thrilled with me when I made him an appointment for Tuesday morning.
Longer story shorter, he had a cyst that was blocking the works. So this morning I dragged him out of the house, not quite kicking and screaming, and he had surgery to remove it. The cyst was big, about the size of a tangerine, and it's surprising it didn't cause him problems or pain before this. Everything went well, but a couple of hours after the surgery he was running a low grade fever, and they decided to keep him. He started to tell them he was going home no matter what, but I convinced him to stay by threatening to tell the kids exactly why he was suddenly having this surgery (all they know is he had some pain, saw the doctor, and the doctor wanted the cyst out.)
I still feel bad about it all, but if he hadn't had this happen now, chances are as the cyst grew and began to slowly press on things more he would have had gradual problems, chalked it up to age, and wound up permanently impotent. And that would not have gone over well at all.
Monday, March 15, 2010
No Viagra required
Holy shit; without upsetting the delicate balance of TMI, but they aren't farkin kidding when they say if it lasts more than 4 hours, go to the ER. But damn, the cure is far worse than the reason you're there.
This is why I love my friends--
--the look on Char's face when being told the definition of raw dog when she was clueless what Alex meant when overheard telling one of his friends You raw dog her and I will kick your ass.
Having teenagers, it's educational.
Having teenagers, it's educational.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
I only lost 9 games of 9 ball tonight
Brad wanted to spend some time with the kids tonight, without us hanging around; he didn't even try to back out when Char told him that us leavng meant he also had to keep Alex and Stephanie at a respectful distance, so we went out. We met Dack and Theresa for dinner and then headed to the bar to shoot pool, tried to cheat a lot so that Char wouldn't humiliate us over and over, and we were home by 9:30.
First words out of Brad's mouth: You're a disgrace. I think he meant me.
Sure, when the kids were little we'd have milked the free babysitting for all it was worth, but now it seems like more work than anything else to stay out late. The bar we frequent is filled with twenty-something kids and the music is annoyingly loud, and once nine o'clock rolls around the level of slutdom jacks up and we're ready to bolt. Hell, anything those kids are trying to do on the dance floor, we can just go home and do, without having to get each other drunk first.
But, my father in law is still here and wants to spend some time talking to his daughter, the kids are all still up, and Alex and Stephanie are sitting a little too closely together on the sofa, but Kevin is right there so I don't feel like I need to go in there and be a pain in my son's ass.
Maybe Rachel will play a board game with me.
Christ, I'm bored.
First words out of Brad's mouth: You're a disgrace. I think he meant me.
Sure, when the kids were little we'd have milked the free babysitting for all it was worth, but now it seems like more work than anything else to stay out late. The bar we frequent is filled with twenty-something kids and the music is annoyingly loud, and once nine o'clock rolls around the level of slutdom jacks up and we're ready to bolt. Hell, anything those kids are trying to do on the dance floor, we can just go home and do, without having to get each other drunk first.
But, my father in law is still here and wants to spend some time talking to his daughter, the kids are all still up, and Alex and Stephanie are sitting a little too closely together on the sofa, but Kevin is right there so I don't feel like I need to go in there and be a pain in my son's ass.
Maybe Rachel will play a board game with me.
Christ, I'm bored.
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