Ok, so I haven't had the chance for updates the past few days. Its funny how life piles things on top of you sometimes, and how you can so easily put things off!
But, right now I have a nice chunk of time as I watch over the fiance post-widom teeth surgery. I brought him in to the doctor this morning, and a short hour later they returned him to me, wisdom teeth-free, but highly doped up of course! I didn't know whether I should be amused or slightly disturbed as I walked into the room he was in, staring blankly into space...barely able to keep his eyes open. He was trashed off the IV meds! The nurse proceeded to give me instructions on which drugs to give him and when, and what he should/should not eat. As much as I was trying to pay attention, it was in one ear and out the other; I was so distracted by my fiance's bobbing head and vacant eyes! I'm thinking over and over...this is a test...am I qualified enough to be taking care of him? He's totally going to die under my watch...(ok, that might be a huge exaggeration, but I'm kind of dramatic at times).
So, we leave the oral surgeon's office, and head down the road to drop off his prescriptions (gotta get those pain meds!) and pick him up a Wendy's Frosty, which the nurse suggested that I get for him. As we're driving, he is babbling incoherently at me in some sort of drugged gibberish, and I didn't know if it was mean of me to be laughing, but nevertheless, I was! He finally motioned to me to give him a paper and pen, and began writing messages to me...which was also somewhat disastrous. It was nearly impossible to decipher his narcotic-induced scribbles, but I managed to make out a few of the notes he was trying to get across. My favorite one reads "Being sedated is the greatest thing!" I had to chuckle. I am making a mental note to take a picture of the page he wrote on to show off for posterity in a later post.
Anyway, we make it back to his house, where he proceeds to get out of my car on his own and attempts to walk in a straight line to the door, tripping on the front step as he goes, even after I warn him about it. He was a man on a mission. His mother helps me get him into bed and take the first of the enormous pills that he was prescribed. And now, for a few hours I've been sitting with him, scratching his back, helping him change out his gauze, and making sure he takes his pills at the correct times.
It makes you feel a bit helpless overall I think. I'm so squeamish at the sight of blood or anything of that nature...how am I going to be able to take care of him in the future if he's sick? I don't even want to begin to think about how I'd manage children (at the moment). All I know is that I'll learn...I hope! That is just part of love I think...even in his drooling, drugged up state, I can't help but adore him. I apologized earlier for being a horrible nurse, and that I had better not be required to have a similar procedure before we get married, because he'd be likely to run screaming in the other direction (I'd pretty much be such a crying, needy baby of a patient).
In reply, he smiled a sluggish smile and simply said, "I'd love to clean up your drool."