Ok, so I wasn’t going to say anything because I mean…it’s kind of personal and most people don’t need to hear it, but whatever, here we go. It’s mildly entertaining I think.
I went and got formally baby-proofed. And before you say “OMG that’s a major surgery, Hubbin should have done it!” believe me, I agree. However, Hubbin has been upfront and honest since Day 1 that he would NOT be having any baby-proofing surgery, and also, he wouldn’t mind another child. So while I did not want the surgery, I didn’t want another baby even more.
Two nights before, Hubbin looks at me and says “Are you sure you want to do this?” Hmm…let’s recap, shall we?
Yeah, Hubbin, no thanks.
So the day before, I go in for all my pre-op blood work and paper-signing. The doctor is giving me all the disclaimers, saying that it’s possible to still get pregnant, and he says “If that happens…” and I interrupt with “You’ll pay child support, right?” and it was then that I realized that his sense of humor was not all that great. No more jokes, Lacky.
I took a somber ride home, ignored any calls and blared The Fray, which is my go-to sad music. I was surprisingly emotional, not because deep down I want another baby, but because it’s the closing of a chapter, and blah blah blah. I fell asleep at like 10 and woke up yesterday morning in time to shower and dress cute and go get spayed. The doctor had said that if I had any anxiety, I could take something, so I dusted off a prescription from 2008 and took a half of a pill. Hubbin was very nice to me, though I’m nearly positive he felt guilt (though he shouldn’t have, we made the decision together).
We checked in, and the pill hit me and I completely conked out. They called me back and had me change into this hot purple number that blows hot air and I slept through most of the prep. Hubbin came back and the doctor came back, and was all “Dear God, what’s up with her?” and Hubbin was like “Um, she took an old anxiety pill”. I woke up and they went over my operative stuff, and after the doctor left, Hubbin was all “Hey, that heated number makes your hooties look enormous.”
Damn, mama!
They came to wheel me back, and I shouted to Hubbin “If I die in this surgery, you better not have babies with anyone else!!” and the nurse told me to zip it and not talk about dead stuff. We turned a corner and she almost hit a doctor (not mine, thank God), and she said “Oh dear, I almost hit God. I’ve been trying to run him over all week.” I said “Why do you call him Dr. God?” She said “Oh honey, because he’s a miracle worker, everyone thinks he is God. I hit him in the nuts yesterday and then got to tell everyone that Dr. God was actually human because he has nuts.”
Yes, the conversation happened. I liked that nurse, I told her we were gonna have fun.
So then I’m talking to the anesthesiologist and I asked if I was going for real under, or just Versed. We talked shop for a bit, and he asked what I did for a living. I told him I worked at a law firm and then realized the possible complications before screeching “WE DON’T DO MEDICAL MALPRACTICE!” Close save. He referenced my vast medical knowledge and I said it was a combination of having a child undergo surgery, years of kidney stones, and of course, Drs. Google & McDreamy.
They gave me a shot of Toradol and everyone became so pretty. I remember yelling “Don’t y’all leave me on the table and go screw each other! I watch Grey’s Anatomy! I know how it goes!” and the anesthesiologist replied “Oh, my girlfriend is off today.”
Even more reason to worry!
If you haven’t had surgery, they ask you like 20 times what you’re in there for. I finally asked the lady “Are you making sure I am who I say I am, or do you really have that bad a memory?” The last thing I remember before succumbing to the drugs was them saying “Ok, what are you having done today?” and I triumphantly stated “A tubal ligation and a boob job!”
Eh, it was worth a try.
