Convalescing

I am convalescing. As in, resting, to get better after surgery or illness. In this case, it was surgery, the effects of which will continue to last for weeks. Thus, the convalescing. When my recovery began, I wondered whether I would be able to meet my self-imposed blogging schedule of publishing at the middle and end of the month of November. Because, my thoughts and physical efforts have been elsewhere. My mental stamina has been taxed. And, what with pain, wounds, impatience, medications (narcotic and otherwise), post-surgical bodily adjustments, sleep disturbances, and general exhaustion, I wasn’t sure if I would be able to sense thoughts pull complete that form to together sentences make.

Or something like that.

In addition, during this time of recovery, I frankly haven’t been feeling very humorous. As most people will agree, post-surgery days don’t make for rip-roaring good times. Unless there is a mishap, something rips, and one starts roaring in pain. Then it is rip-roaring.  In a bad way. We don’t want none of that here.

As luck would have it, though, something funny happened, and I didn’t want to let it go unnoticed.  Loyal readers might recall, in a blog post weeks ago, my husband Rob was my Hero in a particularly testy standoff situation with a minibeast, told here. Now, during my recuperation, Rob once again played the role of Hero. I can always count on him (love & kisses).  This time, he laid his reputation on the line, gallantly facing public ridicule to help me, his maiden in distress. What a guy.

At the risk of being the butt of a joke, here's my story. I'm going to lower my voice and speak in hushed tones as I describe...

I had surgery (cups hands to mouth) down there. Surgery in the lady parts region.  In the early days of recovery, despite my conscientious attention, I was finding it hard to maintain a healthy digestive system. Seems like all those innards affect one another, and disruption in one abdominal system guarantees disruption in another nearby.  Medicated and inactive, I was at the mercy of my trillibubs, and they weren’t cooperating. The natural ebb and flow of digestion had been interrupted.   And, for me, everything waist down was extremely uncomfortable. The nether regions were out of sync.  

The doc’s office suggested a laundry list of over-the-counter supportive medications and items that could jumpstart my system to relieve that backed up feeling and get things flowing again. Rob, my nursing assistant of note, volunteered to go to the store to buy whatever I needed.

Until he looked at the list.

He said, “I have to buy THAT? And THAT? And THAT? Do you know what I will look like at the checkout counter if I am carrying all those things?? What people will think???” But, being a comedian at heart, Rob quickly started laughing. He began to rattle off a string of potty jokes that left no stone unturned, no toilet unflushed. I rolled my eyes and said, "Okay, 5th grade." On and on he went, cracking himself up over and over again. He walked out of the room, then rushed back in to throw out one more pun. Then another. I’m not sure if I’ve seen him enjoy himself more. He was tickled pink.

I suggested that he drive to Walmart for the awkward purchase to use the self-check-out register, thus avoiding familiar cashiers and pharmacists at the nearby stores. No need to get their tongues wagging. We reasoned, even if someone noticed the eyebrow raising objects in his cart at Walmart, it certainly wouldn’t be the most attention-getting thing happening in that store on any given day. You’ve seen “These Are the People of Walmart,” right? If not, watch the music video on Youtube by Jessica Frech. It's hilarious.  

So, it was decided. Walmart it was. Once he got there, Rob was able to peruse the pharmacy isles at leisure to find everything on the list. He also called an audible and grabbed a huge bottle of prune juice, for good measure.

Back home, through barely muffled sniggers, snickers, and giggles, Rob presented me with the medicinal stash. Everything the doctor ordered. He could hardly contain himself as he talked with glee of his chivalrous mission to resolve my discomfort. I gave him due praise and followed directions on packages.  In a matter of days, things started to sort themselves out. The pharmaceuticals did their jobs, and I began to feel better.

Now, let’s circle back to the prune juice. I had never ever, ever, ever tasted prune juice in my life. Not until that particular day. I will never ever, ever, ever taste it again. I took one half of one sip and I gagged, spit it out, washed out my mouth, and sanitized the cup. It was the most disgusting thing imaginable. It tasted like thick liquid raisins. Now might be a good time to tell you that I dislike raisins with prejudice. To be a team player, I will sometimes let a raisin creep into trail mix, as long as there are plenty of other flavors, textures, and legit ingredients to hide the raisinness of the raisin. But, don’t you dare get a single raisin near baked goods, like muffins, or breads, or cookies. Reconstituted mushy raisin blob? Emphatic NO. I have no problem with dried cranberries, dried blueberries, and the like. I have no problem with fresh grapes. But, once a grape goes into dehydration mode, that would be a NO.  So, it comes as no surprise that the raisin-ish flavored prune juice was more than I could handle.

Too bad Rob bought a big 64oz bottle. What a waste. I’m certainly not considering using it to marinate and baste the Thanksgiving Turkey. Can you imagine what an eventful day that might be if everyone had a good dose of prune juice with their banquet? Haha. Not that I would eat it. No siree, Bob.  Not me. Ever. I guess I'll just take a picture of the prune juice and then pour the whole thing down the drain.

So that's my story. What are the takeaways from this gut-wrenching tale? For me? If I'm not laughin', I'm cryin'. Also, I was glad to regain some degree of control over the plumbing. For Rob? "Hey, you should write about it. That's funny!" OK, hon, I will. Without a doubt, my Hero Rob bailed me out of a tough situation again. And, he did it when I was at my most vulnerable. For his heroic efforts, I shall crown him The Grand Poo-Bah. I think he deserves it.