My orthopedic surgeon is hot. And I mean really good looking. Like the type of hot doctor that gives hot doctors their good name. Meanwhile, I have been in the hospital for over a week, no shower, and haven’t even seen myself in a mirror this whole time. When I get wheeled into the operating room on the hospital gurney, I look like the nurse has just found me escaping from the nuthouse. In my backless hospital gown, one bandaged foot, the other in an ill-fitting hospital sock, I’m quite a catch. My hair is a kinked, greasy, slept-in mess from not being able to leave my hospital bed, but luckily they give me a lovely blue operating room hair cap to cover it up. But all this embarrassment is simply not enough for me. Oh, no. I always have to take embarrassment to another level.
I have been in the operating room so many times by now, that I think that I am becoming more and more used to the “sleepy medicine” that they give me. With each OR visit, I have been able to stay awake longer and wake up sooner after surgery. I am awake long enough to see them put up the curtain between me and my foot and start messing with my wound, and the second they finish and start to pack up, my eyes pop open. But can you blame me? I’m pretty sure I have said- my surgeon is hot. You would want as much awake time as possible too.
But that is where the problem lies. When one is given intravenous sleepy medicine and attempts to stay awake and chat with the OR personnel, words tend to spill out of one’s mouth that doesn’t always make mush shense…
The third time that I went into the operating room within a week and a half, I told Hot Doc that I was convinced that they turned the OR into a discotheque the second that I fell asleep. Therefore, I was going to try to stay awake as long as I could, to prove my theory. With a laugh, he said “OK” and continued to prep for surgery. After the last of the doctors, residents, nurses, anesthesiologist, and general paparazzi filed into the room, I was starting to get heavy-eyed, yet continued chatting and joking with the staff. One of the cute residents picked up the iPod and asked me, “What do you want to listen to?”
To which I sarcastically, but stoically, replied, “Heavy metal.”
Now, at this point I was talking and making perfect sense in my head, but hours after coming out of my surgery slumber, it wasn’t quite clear to me if I had been talking out loud or simply having a conversation in my head while drifting into a deep sleep. Anyway, the music that was then played sounded as if they had taken my request seriously and were actually playing heavy metal. This is when the curtain went up and my overly sarcastic and drugged up self slurred,
“Sheesh! What if I had requested Justin Bieber?” Unfortunately, this being the last thing that I remember before officially dozing off, I have concluded that it came out more like,
“Shcsh..whmifmysggeshted Justin Bieber?” So now I have to deal with the fact that Hot Doc most likely thinks that I’m into hard core metal and dream of underage Canadian pop stars.
Upon waking immediately after surgery, I remember Hot Doc explaining to me how the surgery went, or professing his love to me, I can’t really remember which, but then I got to stare straight up his nose through my hazy eyes as he and a nurse wheeled me into the recovery room. During this short trip, Hot Doc and the nurse were discussing the ongoing construction of the addition to the hospital. Never wanting to be left out of a conversation, but not being able to fully articulate my thoughts yet, I had a complete conversation in my head, that made total sense to me (and was hilarious) at the time about children being able to use the construction site and surrounding dirt to play in. All that came out of my mouth however, was, “…sandcastles…”
Right… I am hoping Hot Doc is used to people speaking gibberish after surgery and still wants to marry me. I have a friend who, in attempts to console me, told me that she came out of anesthesia singing “Bicycle Built For Two.” What a weirdo!
Now that I am out of the hospital I have weekly appointments at the orthopedic clinic and I take extra care to make sure I am showered, in full make-up, and looking super adorable to make up for my disheveled time in the infirmary. I am assuming that Hot Doc is waiting until I am no longer a patient of his to propose to me. Or that he is taking his time to make the marriage proposal extra romantic. I will have to tell him later that I am not a fan of surprises, but for now, I’ll wait.
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