Healing and humor

My husband is a funny guy. So funny that not even 24 hours after he had surgery to remove "The Bump," he was taking photos of his head dressing to text me, just to make me laugh at work.

I received this photo with the text "Baby and I are playing Revolutionary War."

He dug out my flute and took several photos to get just the right angle. Apparently the baby wasn't playing Revolutionary War - she was playing "put morsels of cat food in the cat's water dish while Daddy isn't watching." I strongly dislike that game, but I have to admit, Tim gets an A for effort and creativity. (And perhaps a C- in child-watching for the morning.)

Tim's recovery has continued from his "war days." About 10 days after Tim's surgery, he had half of his staples removed. Here is a picture from the night before they were removed - the swelling of the area had gone down, but there is definitely some bruising here:

Since that area is delicate, they didn't want to remove all of the staples at once. Tim went back five days later to have the rest taken out - this is from two days before, with some of the staples remaining:

His hair is growing back in the general area they shaved. He refuses to get a haircut, though, so the rest of his hair is ridiculously long and shaggy, as you can see above (and keep in mind this scraggly photo was from two weeks ago). The hair isn't growing back on the line where the incision was, but we aren't really surprised about that. He also doesn't have feeling on a portion of his scalp, but the doctor told him that it is normal and could last for up to a year.

Of surgeries and poop

Tim had his surgery today - all went well and he's doing great considering they knocked him out and sliced his scalp open. I don't deal well with medical stuff like that (which makes it mind-boggling that I had a med-free, natural birth and didn't pass out at all), and I was worried there might be two patients in the surgery center if I passed out. I worked a half-day, trying to time it so I would be there when Tim woke up and was in recovery. His surgery didn't start on time, though, and I got there about 10 minutes before he was wheeled out of pre-op. I felt my blood pressure starting to drop as I saw him with wires, monitors and the hospital gown. Luckily, they took him away and I took a quick trip to get his pain-med prescription filled, which gave me some fresh air and a distraction from the urge to collapse in a heap on the floor. I'm strong like that.

*insert the photos of Tim with his bandages here
... oh wait, he'll kill me if I post those on the blog*

But now Tim has a dressing on his head, and he looks like a mummy. (Elle was a bit freaked out by it, and we're calling it "Daddy's hat.") He has to see the doctor for a follow-up tomorrow (and has to wear the dressing until the doctor removes it), and then he plans on going straight to work. I think he's crazy, he claims he's tough, we both agree he's stubborn. The nurses all said he handled the anesthesia extremely well (it was his first experience with it), and he actually made ME take a nap when we got home. He wasn't able to eat after midnight, so he had a well-deserved Chipotle burrito with a side of pain meds at dinner. He's been tired and can't really rest comfortably because of where the incision was, but seriously, you wouldn't know he was operated on seven hours ago if you didn't see the tell-tale headdress. Or if you didn't hear that the volume on the TV has been turned up because the dressing covers his ears and apparently affects his hearing.

Elle always says "Where Daddy? Daddy work" at bedtime. Tonight she paused, knowing that Daddy was on the couch - not at work - but not sure what else to say. I told her Daddy was resting because he had a boo-boo, but he was going to be all better and his "hat" would come off. Elle decided to answer her own "Where Daddy?" question with "Daddy boo-boo."

Speaking of Elle, she had a bit of a rough weekend herself. After some detective work tonight, I have concluded that our weekend of Pooper Bowl and seemingly endless stay in Fussytown was caused by another canine tooth poking through. This is number three, and these teeth are creating the second-worst teething experience of our parental lives, trumped only by the molars,.

The extra drool and wacky eating created some nasty digestive issues this weekend. I changed so many poopy diapers that Elle started to repeat my diaper-changing mantra of "No more poopy diapers!" On Sunday she had a mini-meltdown at lunch, woke up from her nap extremely cranky and clingy and didn't eat much, a theme of the weekend. I loved the extra cuddles, but I hate seeing her in pain and discomfort, and it isn't fun trying to prepare lunch or dinner while Elle freaks out that I'm not picking her up righthissecond. Or givinghermorefruitsnacksthisveryminute. Or fillintheblankhere. Whatever it is, when she's like this, I can't do it fast enough.

After four days of this fun, Elle won't meet our eyes when we ask if she has to poop. The tell-tale farts broadcast the deed that has already been done, and she looks down at the floor as she nods her head slowly - first "no," then a defeated "yes" before scurrying to the bathroom, where we find, time after time, that it's too late for the potty and there is yet another poopy diaper to change. 

So we've got the Mummy, who is handling things well - and I'm so relieved that the surgery, however minor it was, is over. I didn't realize how stressed I was about it until last night, and then today I had a hard time focusing at work, just knowing that the surgery was nearing. And then we've got the Tummy (byproduct of the teeth) - and I cannot wait until this round of digestive woes and tooth-induced cranky is over. Seriously, the teething cannot be finished soon enough, for any of us.