Marty's surgery went well. I brought my camera and took pictures, but Marty refuses to allow me to post them. I have no idea why not, I thought it would make a wonderful addition to the blog, but he is being a spoil-sport. By the way, if you ever want to make doctors nervous, show up to your husband's vasectomy with a big camera around your neck. I was very entertained by their reaction, to say the least!
Yesterday, he was a great patient. The combination of Valium and Vicodin made my husband an incredibly pleasant person. I am going to try to get my hands on some more of those and sneak them into his morning coffee whenever I think it might make things easier, like when we go to the mall to do Christmas shopping. Not only was he well sedated, he was happy, relaxed, and easy to get along with. I was thinking that this recovery was going to be breeze.
Today, however, the Valium is out of his system and the Vicodin has made him a bit... cranky. His sister called this morning to check in, and this was our conversation:
Amy (on the phone): How is Marty feeling?
Me: Hon, how are you feeling?
Marty: What do you mean by that?
Me: Amy wants to know how you are feeling today.
Marty: I need you to be more specific, I don't know what you are really asking me.
Me, to Amy: He is cranky and he needs more Valium. It's going to be a long day.
After I hung up with Amy, Marty did acknowledge that he was being a jerk, and explained that he thought we were trying to figure out if she should stop by today. I miss Valium Marty. He was a lot of fun.
I am glad we decided to do this procedure when we did, since I can't imagine it being any easier after the baby comes. However, if anyone else is considering this, let me give you a word of advice. Being eight months pregnant is not the time to send your husband in for a vasectomy. We were trying to get the kids ready this morning so we could get Emma to school, and neither one of us could bend down to tie our own shoes. We drop something on the ground and neither one of us can pick it up. It's pathetic, really, trying to take care of each other when neither one of us can take care of ourselves, and a nice bottle, I mean, glass of wine would sure make things easier on me.
Luckily, the recovery is short and I am (relatively) patient. I am, however, stocking up good-wife-points to cash in after giving birth for the fourth time. That's going to be a nice box of chocolates.
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