So I run the Kitten up to the hospital in Baltimore today for her "one week after surgery" checkup (a bit of a recreational accident last week left her with four broken ribs, a concussion, and wrist surgery to repair a nasty break), and we're sitting in this little exam room with the Ortho Surgeon and the resident.
The Surgeon starts his little presentation with a discussion backgrounded with the x-ray of the original break. This proceeded whilst the resident removed the splint/cast from the delicate arm of my wounded mate. At one point, sorta out of the blue, the surgeon asked me if I was OK as I shifted a bit in my seat to alleviate an undergarment-driven discomfort. I answered with a jaunty "Absolutely, just shifting a bit in the chair".
Less than ten seconds later, I start feeling really, really funny. My head and extremities began to tingle; I felt hot. So I began to look away from the goings on, and breathe deeply. About this time, I realized that I was likely to faint--something I'd never done before--but the approach of which seemed obvious enough. So I interrupted with a "perhaps maybe I should leave the room", a mere seconds before what would have been a face plant into an electronic pillow provided by my Blackberry sitting atop my Kindle.
The resident helped me up and over to the exam table, to the chuckling of my beloved Kitten--reinforced once again in the knowledge that she is much tougher than I. Nurses brought me water, and a cold compress, and did their very best to reinforce my devastated ego with stories of men far more macho than I taking the dive right there in the shock trauma clinic.
No use. I left that room less of a man.
Thursday, August 5, 2010
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6 comments:
Oh dear. Poor Kitten. That's horrible.
But don't be so hard on yourself--she may have had four broken ribs, a concussion and a broken wrist, but you had 'undergarment driven discomfort.'
Perhaps your undergarment-driven discomfort led to a pooling of blood in your nether regions, causing a disconnect in the supply of vital nutrients to your brain.
Yeah, that's the ticket!
By the way, please wish the Kitten a speedy recovery.
Lessened though they may have been, that took a pair to tell the world about it. Too funny. Get well Kitten.
Lessened though they may have been, that took a pair to tell the world about it. Too funny. Get well Kitten.
It's called compassion. Something you learn to forget sometimes in the Navy. I've watched Sailors get stiched up in sickbay without a problem but nothing can get my heart rate going like seeing my wife or children injured. It's like trying to be a duck, calm on the outside, you know the rest. Don't sweat it.
I suspect she was at Johns Hopkins. I've had some experience with those folks and I have to tell you, those guys are the bomb. That is a GREAT hospital with GREAT doctors. Of course Baltimore is a shithole but what the heck.
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