Michael’s procedure went very well yesterday. They knocked him out, stuck the tube down his throat, thrust a balloon in his esophagus and then dilated it. Apparently he’s suffered from moderate to severe heartburn long enough that there is scar tissue built up in there. That has been causing some issues that he would like to avoid in the future.

He was still pretty groggy when they called me back to the post-surgery area. The doctor came to talk to us and the first thing I noticed, (after the man’s lack of stature), was the rapid fire way that Michael was asking questions. He kept interrupting the doctor and wouldn’t let him complete a full sentence. Don’t get me wrong, Michael was asking good questions…he was just asking them like he would never, ever, get to see another medical professional for the rest of his life that would be able to answer these questions. They also gave us complete written records in case Michael didn’t believe me later when I reminded him that he was to stick to soft food, and not to eat meat or drink alcohol for at least 24 hours.

After the doctor left, Michael proceeded to show me how he could alter his heart rate, by ONLY USING HIS MIND. I hope he keeps using this super power for good instead of evil. Then his nurse came in with a a small cup of liquid.

Nurse: Here is your Diet Coke.

Michael: My what?

Nurse: Your Diet Coke.

Michael: Why are you giving me a Diet Coke?

Nurse: Because you asked for it.

Michael: I ASKED for a DIET COKE?

At this point both the nurse and I are laughing at his utter disbelief in requesting a Diet Coke. In all honesty, in 15 years of marriage I have never heard him ask for a Diet Coke, so I do understand his surprise.

Michael of course wanted to know what else he had said that he didn’t remember and the nurse side-stepped that a bit. She claimed that patients usually got too embarrassed when they heard the nonsense they were spouting, so she kept that entertainment to herself. Michael was persistent though, so she provided him with this dialogue exchange that occurred while she was adjusting his IV:

Michael: You have really cold hands!

Nurse: You know what they say, cold hands, warm heart.

Michael: No, I think you just have poor circulation.

That’s my boy, wooing the women with his honesty. I guess I don’t have to worry about his ability to flirt with others.

He made it back home late that morning, and his only request to me was for a veggie omelet, grits and a biscuit. Good thing we live in the South. This of course was after he said he wanted to grill something for lunch. When I asked WHAT he planned to grill, he responded with “I don’t know, sausage sounds good”. Isn’t sausage a meat? A reminder to take away the propane tank.

Prescription, lunch, slippers on his feet, corgi near by…I felt safe that he would behave himself if I went off to work. It seems like he did fine, and he seemed to be feeling good when I came home from a partner dinner later in the evening. When asked though what he made for dinner, he responded with ‘pasta’. And then sheepishly added that it had sausage in it. Apparently my dear boy needs to flirt less and listen more. Patient #1090480, you are lucky that you are cute.