I’ve discovered a few things about myself:

1.) I need to work on my nursing skills

2.) I can sleep almost anywhere now, including the eye doctor’s office during my son’s visit.

3.) I don’t want Mike to ever age, or OK, me either if we’re being totally honest here.

Mike had his surgery yesterday. He had his tonsils removed, his uvula clipped, his sinuses gutted and his deviated septum repaired. Any of those surgeries alone is a booger, but put them all together……the result is ugly.

He arrived at 7 am yesterday with his wonderful Mom that agreed to take him so I could get both boys off to school, 1 at 7:30, the other at 8:00. His surgery wasn’t scheduled to start til 8 and I figured they would be late, and I was correct. I was there in plenty of time to kiss him goodbye before he left to have his face gutted, which was SUPER important to me. Brooklyn however, would have none of it. Something was different about her Dad and she wanted nothing to do with him in his little blue paper nightgown with pink socks.

He went back for surgery about 9 and should have been done and out by noon. He would spent a short 30 minutes in recovery before they took him back to the minor recovery room where I could see him.

Dr comes out at noon tells me everything went smoothly, everything was fixed, and he’s in the surgical recovery room.

12:30 comes and no one comes to get me, so I call back. “He’s just having a difficult time coming out of anesthesia, he just needs another 30 minutes.”

1:00 comes and goes and still nothing….

2:00 comes and goes and now I’m really starting to worry.  I call back there again and again she tells me that they can’t seem to wake him up. 

That is something you don’t ever want to hear.    Now, I’m scared.  Lord, I cannot lose Mike.

2:30 comes and I call again (yes, those nurses probably hate me, I was aware of that, and it just didn’t seem to matter to me at that point).   I have kids getting out of school, I don’t know what to do.   The nurse said to go pick up the boys, Mike still isn’t awake yet anyway, and they can’t keep his oxygen levels up. 

Now, I’m really freaked out.  This little outpatient surgery has turned into a bigger deal than I thought! 

Boys retrieved, church called, family notified, tears come, fear starts to set in.   Lord, no really….I really cannot lose Mike.  Make him be alright!  Uhhh…please.

We had back up to the hospital and I call back again at 4 just in case she had tried to call/page/smoke signal/passenger pigeon me and I missed it.   THIS time, she uttered the words I’d wanted to hear ALL day:  “You can come back, Mrs Suggs.  And then the words I didn’t want to hear:  “We’re admitting him.  His oxygen levels are not good and they cannot release him.”

This……we didn’t plan for.  There was no back-up plan for what-if. 

So we wait for a room to become available.  Room open FINALLY at 7 but by 7:30 I was exhausted, the kids had reached their limit on “INSIDE VOICE”, so I got Mike settled in his room watching who-knows-what on tv, drinks within reach, call button by his leg, lots and lots of tissues for the bleeding.

This is when I realized my nursing skills were poor.  He had to potty.   The nurse informs me he’d be more comfortable with ME helping him than her.

Huh?  Like be IN the same room with him while he relieves his bladder?   Is that legal?  We just don’t do that here.  Never have. 

But, I learned something new:  ceilings do not fall in if you have to help your husband to the bathroom. 

I’m like….growing up and stuff.

We tuck him in, head home about 7:30 and the screeching begins.  “Mom, what’s for dinner?  I haven’t eaten all day!  That again?  Can’t we go out?  You always say NO!”

At this point, car payment seems the least of my problems, Taco Bell cheap nachos will relieve all my pain…..not really, but it will keep me from cooking.   How can they just sit there and eat like that?  Obviously, my fear does NOT translate to the kids….

Kids tucked in, dishes done, laundry started, take a shower, FINALLY get Brooklyn to fall asleep, crash into the bed at 11 pm.  2 hours later than I wanted.

I suddenly just have this thought of Mike.  What if he needs me and I’m not there?

Lord, keep him safe.  Please.  Give him favor with the nurses, let his body heal like it’s supposed to, give him GOOD rest, in Jesus name.

Sleep finally comes.

11:20 pm phone rings and Bailey hospital’s name is on caller id.  My heart has dropped out of my chest.  

But it’s Mike on the other end of the phone, in tears, afraid, alone, and he’s bleeding.  The nurses won’t come to check on the bleeding.  He’s scared.  He’s alone.  “Will you come?  Can you pack up the kids and just come and sleep with me?”

How in the world can I say no to that….

Wake the kids, pack the clothes, grab some blankets, try to calm down.

Speed out of the neighborhood.

Get pulled over.

Freak out all over the poor officer misfortunate enough to pull me over.



Stop that blubbering, for goodness sakes.

Arrive at the hospital, and they are not even monitoring his oxygen levels that he was admitted for!  😡  

Try not to skin the nurses.  😉

Finally about 1 am, we get to lay down.   They do, thankfully have a large window seat in the room smaller than a twin size bed, with a 2″ mattress that runs the length of it.  And we all 4 crawl onto that.

Austin doesn’t want to sleep in the recliner.  Chandler doesn’t want to sleep in the recliner and Brooklyn won’t even be an option.  They are tired, they are scared and they need to be close.

So we all sleep in a mass of arms and legs, tangled and interwoven on this tiny place meant for 1.  36 year old 28 year old 😉  13 year old, 10 year old, 3 year old, smooshed, smashed, and fighting not to go sailing off of it.

Sleep.  Glorious, lovely, peaceful……

“Honey, I’ve got to go to the bathroom again.”

And this went on all night.  Every 20 minutes through the night, until 4 in the morning, something was wrong, something needed done, potty, drinks his throat is so dry again, nurses, blood pressure, temp, or check bandage. 

But this is my husband whom I love and adore and he needs me.  I cannot utter a sound of fatigue, frustration, or pain.  I am grateful I have him.   So, I smile and do what’s needed.

Even if it means hearing him pee.

And he is home now, under our roof again, sleeping in his recliner.  Pain medication and antibiotic has been administered.  Drinks given.  And the remote within reach. 

Thank You, dear Lord.