This is the part of the story I had to get permission to write. EEK
Surgery ends, and we (at this point, Paul’s three sisters, mother, and a brother-in-law) headed up to SICU. We had to wait for him to begin to wake up, so we hung out in the hallway (turns out the waiting rooms are locked at this point in the evening).
We chatted, I sat on a gurney I’m pretty sure I wasn’t supposed to be sitting on, and we waited.
And then we started hearing a noise. An angry, loud, yelling sort of noise. Not like someone in pain, just like someone who had gone beyond angry to full rage-beast.
We all stared at each other and I said “That’s Paul.”.
I know my husbands voice, y’all. Even drugged out of his mind and yelling in an inarticulate rage, I know that man’s voice.
The yelling continued for another few minutes before quieting down, and a rather frazzled looking doctor came out of SICU.
“So, he’s…not happy.”
“He keeps trying to rip his bandages off, but we’ve got him dosed with fentanyl, so you can come back and see him.”
He was calm enough while his mother and sisters saw him, but apparently the rage could not be contained with mere peasant drugs, and soon after they left, homeboy lost. it.
It turns out that the “For worse” part of your vows sometimes means helping a nurse restrain your husband while he tries to rip out his A-line and punch you in the face.
I may or may not have said something to the effect of “they’re trying to help you, you idiot!”
He was very apologetic the next morning, and began the process of shocking every doctor, nurse, and therapist with his recovery process. He spent only four days in the hospital before being released into my (kind-of) capable hands.
We spent the next week discovering which kinds of drug store bandages cover pressure wounds best, and what kinds of medical tape simply don’t do their jobs. We spent a week just the two of us, watching movies, talking to therapists, taking medicine, and laughing. So much laughing.
Recovery was long, and sometimes rough, but he is back to normal, his brain has returned to brain-shape, and what was left of the tumor has begun collapsing in on itself. He is currently in Atlanta, doing what he loves, which is teaching people how to cook amazing steak. He no longer wakes up vomiting and dizzy, and in two weeks, his cochlear implant will be turned on, and he will have full hearing for the first time in seven years.
You have all been there with us every step of the way, and I am so thankful for each and every one of you.
This part of the story is over, and I am happy to be able to start writing about the things I love: homeschooling, books, baking, and general silliness. I would love for you to stick around.