Why Is There A Glob of Chocolate Pudding On My Nightstand And Other Questions Parents Have To Ask

(This actually happened when my girls were still relatively young. It explains a lot about why I have silver strands mixed in with the blonde in my hair and why I have trouble expressing a complete thought.)

Me: “Can someone please tell me why I just found a glob of chocolate pudding on the nightstand in my bedroom?

No answer.

Me: “I know I wasn’t eating chocolate pudding in my room, so someone else in this house must know something about this.”

Youngest daughter M, twelve years old: “Oh yeah, that might have been me.”

Me: “You were eating chocolate pudding in my bed?”

M: “Nope.”

Me: “Then how did the pudding get there?”

M: “I had a headache.”

Me: “You had a headache?”

M: “Yup.”

Me: “And smearing chocolate pudding on the nightstand made your headache better somehow?”

M: “I needed to take a pill for my headache.”

Me: “And?”

M: “I can’t swallow a pill unless I put it in something else so I put it in a spoonful of chocolate pudding.”

Me: “Okay, but how did it get in my bedroom?”

M: “The cat was staring at me.”

Me: “So you flung the pudding at the cat and it landed on the nightstand? Was the pill still in it?”

M: “I didn’t fling the pudding at the cat. The cat was in the kitchen staring at me when I tried to swallow the pill, and it’s hard enough to swallow a pill without a cat staring at you, so I went upstairs to do it in the privacy of your room.”

Me: “Then what happened?”

M: “I’m not sure”

Me: “Let’s recreate the scene. You’re standing next to my bed. You have a spoonful of chocolate pudding in your ---which hand was it in?”

M: “The right hand.”

Me: “So the spoon is in your right hand and you raise it to your mouth and . . .”

M: “Oh yeah, I gagged on the pill.”

Me: “Now we’re getting somewhere! Did you spit the pudding and the pill onto the nightstand?”

M: “Ewwww, gross! No, I ran into the bathroom and spit the pill into the sink.”

Me: “Now think really hard, was the spoon in your hand when you got to the sink?”

M: “No.”

Me: “Picture the spoon. Where is it?”

M: “I remember now! I dropped it on the nightstand when I gagged.”

Me: “But I only found pudding on the nightstand. There was no evidence of a spoon.”

M: I went back and picked up the spoon and brought it to the kitchen so you wouldn’t get mad.”

Me: “Okay. Now I understand. Could you please grab a paper towel and go up and wipe up the pudding.”

M: “I can’t.”

Me: “Why not?”

M: “I have a headache.” 

Recovery, Leprechauns, Birthday Cake, and Thanks

     I survived.

     I went into the hospital on January 11th for what was supposed to be the repair of one incisional hernia---just a small incision, home the same day, and a month's recovery. Instead, they found three hernias, cut me from two inches above my belly button to about six inches below, admitted me to the hospital, and stuck a tube with a drain in me that stayed in for over a month.

     Oh, and did I mention that I woke up during surgery?

     Okay, so that sounds more dramatic than it was. I don't remember waking up and wouldn't even know that it happened if one of the recovery room nurses hadn't told me about it. I might have thought that it was a drug-induced hallucination (for instance, I'm not sure but I don't think a leprechaun was truly sitting at the foot of my hospital bed trying to "steal me Lucky Charms" but I can't prove anything one way or another). But one of my daughters was with me and confirms that the nurse did in fact say I woke up during the procedure (my daughter did not, however, admit to seeing the leprechaun, but she might have dozed off for a minute or two).

     So they won't be making any horror movies about my experience. I wasn't awake and aware but unable to move, I didn't hear the surgeons talking about their hangovers or their golf scores, and I didn't float above my body and watch them carve me up. But it's still pretty horrifying to think about, especially for someone like me who is almost guaranteed to need future surgeries. As I've found out, once they cut into your abdomen, the odds are pretty good that they will have to go back in again and again to remove adhesions, fix hernias, and unfortunately, sometimes repair organs that get entangled in the scar tissue. It's never easy to force yourself to walk into the hospital and willingly lie on a table while someone uses sharp instruments to cut into you, but it will be a lot harder next time worrying about being a light sleeper. Maybe I'll insist that I be allowed headphones with shows from The Discovery Channel playing on them. That always knocks me right out.

     Believe it or not, there are some pros to having surgery. They don't outweigh the cons, but they still deserve to be counted.

     Pros-

     1.)  My daughters all were able to come home and be with me in my time of need. I got to spend a couple of weeks with my favorite people in the world and they, along with Herbie, took care of me completely, even doing the tedious chores I couldn't convince the leprechaun to tackle. Thank you, ladies and Herbie. I love you and I'm so very proud of the adults you've become despite my maternal deficiencies (yes, that includes you, Herbie. I don't say it enough, but I'm very proud to call you my husband, best friend, and soulmate. Happy 30th Anniversary!)

     2.)  After driving my family crazy watching only Everybody Loves Raymond dvd's during my recovery from my last surgery, I was able to branch out this time and find shows on Netflix that I'd never had time to check out before. I am now proudly addicted to Downton Abbey, Royal Pains, and Monk. I also found a UK show called The IT Crowd and you haven't lived until you have watched Moss while on painkillers.

     3.)  Now that the surgery is behind me, it's safe to watch Grey's Anatomy again.

     4.)  I already knew how lucky I am to have friends who will put up with me, but the cards, fruit arrangements, flowers, meals, gelato, popcorn assortments, phone calls, and prayers all meant so much to me. Thank you to my friends and family members for all your love and support, even to those of you who are just trying to make me fatter than you are, brown-nose your way into my will, or convince me to vacation with you in places I refuse to go. I love you all.

     5.)  Despite those trying to fatten me up and the delicious goodies that arrived on my doorstep almost daily, I always lose ten or fifteen pounds after surgery. It's not a diet plan I would recommend, but still, it deserves to be counted as a pro.

     6.)  While poking and prodding me during follow-up visits, my surgeon and Herbie always have involved discussions on the economy, politics, and the business climate in general. I would prefer that my surgeon not talk over my exposed body as though I'm not there, but it does keep him from asking more questions about my bathroom habits and exercise routine, so I'm adding it as a pro.

     It's been five and a half weeks since the surgery and even though my surgeon said it could take up to three months to recover, I spent this past weekend at our loghouse in the country with fifteen of my youngest daughter's closest friends. We go up every year for her birthday and I was afraid we wouldn't be able to do it this year, but we managed. We had three days of giggles, homemade pizza, games, movies, hikes, cookie pies, and tears over a beautiful scrapbook her friends made for her as a gift.

     If spending three days in a cabin in the woods with sixteen teenage girls and coming out alive doesn't prove that I'm back up to full speed, I don't know what will.