A Blessing Beyond the Vomit
/All is well that ends well. Fric is back at home, moaning and groaning with the best of them. My little drama queen will recover to one day prance around to the beat of Shania and imitate her idol, Ms. Britney. Around here, we like to set the bar high. Of course, her father missed all the action. He missed her freak out when she had her I.V. inserted. He missed her freak out right before the anesthetic kicked in and she bucked like a wild thing. He missed her subsequent awakening and the vomiting that followed. He missed the tears, the whining and the complaining. (Okay, that last part was all me, but he still missed it.)
There were a few memorable moments. Like when my daughter was in the O.R and I wandered up to the old folk's section to engage in a debate on local politics. I almost didn't make it out of that wing alive. Who knew that a bunch of aging blue blood conservatives still had that much energy to rant and rave about the demons who call themselves Liberals. Apparently, me and my nose ring are entirely responsible to the down fall of civilized society.
Then there was the moment in the recovery room, when my disoriented daughter told the nurse to go to hell after being asked if she was feeling alright. And then proceeded to vomit on the poor nurse. It was a proud moment for me. All of a sudden, my sweet child was replaced with puke-spewing devil the likes of which belonged up on the big screen. I kept waiting for her head to turn all the way around...Sadly, I was disappointed.
And of course, there was the reunion with all the doctors and nurses who knew the Bug, and didn't know he had died. Quite the conversation killer, when asked how Shalebug was doing only to be told he passed away in October. I didn't know who to feel more sorry for, them or me.
But in the end, it wasn't so bad. This time, I came out with what I brought in; my daughter. Because no one knows better than I do that there are and will be parents who will walk that same lonely walk out of the hospital that I had to do.
Suddenly, one head-spinning, vomit spewing, foul mouthed demon-daughter became the blessing she is. Puke and all.
There were a few memorable moments. Like when my daughter was in the O.R and I wandered up to the old folk's section to engage in a debate on local politics. I almost didn't make it out of that wing alive. Who knew that a bunch of aging blue blood conservatives still had that much energy to rant and rave about the demons who call themselves Liberals. Apparently, me and my nose ring are entirely responsible to the down fall of civilized society.
Then there was the moment in the recovery room, when my disoriented daughter told the nurse to go to hell after being asked if she was feeling alright. And then proceeded to vomit on the poor nurse. It was a proud moment for me. All of a sudden, my sweet child was replaced with puke-spewing devil the likes of which belonged up on the big screen. I kept waiting for her head to turn all the way around...Sadly, I was disappointed.
And of course, there was the reunion with all the doctors and nurses who knew the Bug, and didn't know he had died. Quite the conversation killer, when asked how Shalebug was doing only to be told he passed away in October. I didn't know who to feel more sorry for, them or me.
But in the end, it wasn't so bad. This time, I came out with what I brought in; my daughter. Because no one knows better than I do that there are and will be parents who will walk that same lonely walk out of the hospital that I had to do.
Suddenly, one head-spinning, vomit spewing, foul mouthed demon-daughter became the blessing she is. Puke and all.