I missed my post last night.
I really wanted to just spend a little time with my husband. I knew he was going in for surgery again this morning. Although the surgery is not supposed to be very dangerous, I just was a bit worried about it all. I get that way now. Too often. So, I took some time and just sat with my husband. It was nice.
My husband, Rick's kidney stone thing has been going on for about a month now. But, as of today's surgery, it appears that all is good. The physician could safely remove the kidney stone today. However, he left a thin-but-long tube (called a stent) in one of my husband's ureters (the tube from the kidney to the bladder). The only reason why I am going into such detail is I must for you to fully understand the second part of this story. The story continues as the stent must be removed on Friday, at home, by my husband or I. OK...what now?! Are you frickin' kidding me?!
The physician explained that while doing the surgery today, he attached a string to the stent and the string is now the method by which we are supposed to remove it. For those of you who can't picture this, imagine a string (about 1 and a half feet long) attached somewhere inside your husband's body and coming from your husband's private part. And the best part: YOU are supposed to assist in pulling it. GAG! To avoid getting myself ill about this subject, I will just say: please pray for us. It doesn't sound pleasant.
After Rick's surgery today, the nurse let me go into the recovery area. Surprisingly, he did not seem that bothered by the thought of the "string"; but, I think subconsciously he was very, VERY worried. We got home and he went upstairs to rest. About an hour later, I heard some loud noises from upstairs, went running up and found my husband stumbling out of the bathroom into our bedroom with his shorts half falling down around his ankles. Alarmed, I asked, "Are you OK?" He looked at me and I immediately knew: the lights were on but no one was home.
Rick had a blank look and fell on the side of the bed, limp. I grabbed him and lowered him to the floor. Luckily, I handled the situation well and did not let my emotions take center stage. I have quite a bit of experience in the medical field and was able to quickly decide if he was actually in a dangerous situation (since he had surgery earlier, he could have been having complications) or whether he had just passed out. I checked his pulse and breathing- they seemed normal. So, I helped him get comfortable on the floor, fanned him with cool air, got a wet rag for his forehead and raised his feet with pillows. Within a few seconds, he was back on Earth and his stark white face was returning to it's normal color. I watched him closely for about another half hour, not letting him try to get up unassisted. He was fine and returned to normal. I guess looking at the "string" was a traumatic experience. Poor guy!