We'll Laugh About This (Someday) by Anna Lind Thomas

Author:Anna Lind Thomas
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Thomas Nelson
Published: 2021-06-29T00:00:00+00:00

At first I felt relief that crazy behavior was common. But this realization led to more terrifying questions: (1) Why is everyone so horny coming out of surgery? And (2) what was I doing during the parts I can’t remember? Please, Lord, tell me I wasn’t honking boobs and wieners!

Since Bob was no fun, I tried settling down into my bed, but a burn was growing in my lower abdomen and started ruining my buzz. Another nurse made her way into my view. She was talking to me about buttons I could press and blah blah blah. I wasn’t listening. “What’s your pain level now, from one to ten?” she asked, pointing at a chart that had a series of round smiley faces ranging from delighted to actively being dismembered.

“Twelve,” I said in full confidence. “The pain is bad. Really, really bad.”

“Okay, so, ten is ‘my arm has just been cut off,’” the nurse began (again with the tone!), “so with that in mind, where we at now?”

“Oh. A three?”

The nurse left, I assume to log in pain meds appropriate for a level three, and it all started coming back to me, like waking up with a hangover and getting snapshots of the night before. Snap! Trying to kiss the guy in a tank top with hairy shoulders. Snap! Peeing in the front yard. Snap! Crying uncontrollably in the back of an Uber because your Taco Bell order is missing the Doritos Locos. (In your defense, the Doritos Locos were the only reason you picked Taco Bell in the first place.)

I had been at the hospital all morning. When I first arrived, I was put into a room that was small but decorated like a hotel room. My mom sat at my side. Rob was at work, at the VA, and had begged to be with me. But he was out of sick days, and we were broke. He didn’t care about the incoming reduced paycheck, but I did. I assured him I’d be fine, and I was. I was with my mom and felt good about it. Years later he’d admit that it was traumatic for him to be at work that day, away from me. I should have encouraged him to come, but honestly, I just wanted to get it done and over with. I was exhausted picking up my broken pieces, keeping them huddled close enough together that I was still some semblance of myself. I didn’t have enough hands for his too.

A lovely older woman came in and introduced herself as Frances. She was cheerful and calm, prepping me for surgery. I loved saying her name and tried fitting it in wherever I could. “Hey, Frances, you a fan of The Pioneer Woman, Frances?” I asked, motioning toward the TV.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said, making her way around the bed. “I like her show, but sometimes she’s too cute for her own good. Have you read her blog recipes? Who’s got time to scroll through

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