I started the New Year off in a rather unique way. On January 2nd, I was in surgery having my gallbladder removed. I managed to preach and share the gospel all through pre-op with the nervous chatter that is present before those life defining moments, such as surgery. Of course my IV would stop sending those oh so helpful fluids that would shut me up, so the nurse and the anesthesiologist desperately searched for a vein that would do the trick. Of course, they were too polite to agree to that when I blatantly suggested that was what they were doing.
Finally, lights out. I woke up sometime later, groggy and feeling like upchucking. I tried to eat a cracker which felt like drywall paste in my mouth. The graham cracker really wasn’t much better. What I truly wanted was another pain pill. I’m not sure why I wanted one. In my confused state, I think I thought the pain pill would stop the queasiness. I don’t remember being in pain although my husband assured me I was. And of course I would have killed for some water.
When my young male nurse brought me a hospital cup, with a bendy straw to boot, full of water, I could have kissed him. At the time I thought he was a young twenty something and young enough to be my son. When I learned he had a child older than my oldest, I rethought that “kiss” him bit. Man was I out of it. I needed that pain pill and fast. Maybe it would clear my head.
Time was a passing. I could hear the clock ticking. And after calling in my nurse several more times, I finally received my checkout instructions. That was when I received the news. I would be full of gas. In fact, they purposefully filled my stomach with said gas. I would need to expend such gas. Uh oh. I don’t do “gas.”
My instructions were to follow the advice of Shrek. It’s better to let it out than to keep it in. Har har har. Really? Am I a seven year old boy? Shrek?
I began by burping. I can do that, at least at home in the presence of my husband and son. In fact, they get quite a kick out of mom burping louder than them. I thought I had it beat. Not once did I feel the need to expend gas from the nether regions. At least not the first couple of days. Then it hit me. What was I to do? I ran for the bathroom. I hid under the covers. It was as if my body was abducted and controlled by school boys who were fascinated with the art of making one’s bottom talk. Yikes. Did I just say that? Really?
Oh, my face is turning red. Remember, I don’t do gas. My daughter came to visit. She has been here exactly twenty four hours. She has changed the atmosphere of our house. She reeks. She could peel the paint off our walls. She obviously does not hold the same “being a lady” standard as her mother.
After a long day of lunch and a little shopping, I climbed into my bed for a rest. I could feel my stomach moving and knew if I closed my eyes, it would happen. I would pass gas. Upon telling my husband and daughter who were both in our bedroom, she laughed at me and said. “I heard you once, when you were in the bathroom.”
Okay, the secret is out. I’m human like anyone else and while it’s still considered improper in my book to stench up the room, there are times you just have to let it go. Seriously.
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