By definition, torture is the infliction of mental anguish or physical pain. You'd think the inclination to severely mame oneself would be limited by past experiences and eventually, even synthetic common sense would prevail. I don't think this applies to middle aged men, much in the way you wouldn't expect a toddler to recognize danger. For my DH, I'm pretty convinced if you tell him the stove is hot, he's still going to touch it.
We've had 2 visits with the dentist and 1 with the oral surgeon now. He spent the better part of the last 2 weeks completely baked on pain killers from the implant surgery. I was mildly entertained at some of the conversations we had and I've found myself struggling to resist the urge to wonder at some of the things that go through his head. I think I'm going to go with my initial instincts and not try to make sense of any of them. To me, it seems like an endless task with no finality. Of course, that surgery just entailed the posts. It'll be upwards of 3 months before permanent crowns can be placed, so I can continue to rib him about the incident a while longer.
Now I believe I mentioned that Chris is a rather amusing and entertaining guy. It's probably the core reason we've been together so long. One couldn't make up the number of stories I have to tell as a result of his questionable decisions. Incidentally, he's also an easy target when it comes to personal amusement. He doesn't always "get it" immediately and the moments between the time you crack a joke and he catches on are usually pretty entertaining.
I was able to be with him until he was completely under anesthesia. Now I'm not sure what exactly they use to induce a person, but I'm awfully thankful it's not readily available on the black market. All I do know is it's 3 drugs and lights out.
So, there he was, laying on the table chatting inquisitively with the anesthesiologist about the procedure and what it entails, asking if he's ever lost a patient, etc. You could clearly tell he was quite nervous about the event. In an attempt to calm him, the anesthesiologist diverted his attention to work, asking him what he does for a living, as he was inserting the IV into his arm. Now this is a topic Chris is in love with. If it weren't for the drugs, he'd probably still be there talking about his business. He babbles endlessly about landscaping, water features, how he's been in business 20 years and so on. 1st injection of the 3 loaded up and for some reason that I can't quite articulate, he looks at the anesthesiologist with the purest, most innocent and yet serious expression and asks "What do you do?"
Now one would think, given the circumstances the 2 met under, the answer to that question should be obviously. Remember how I said he doesn't always get it? Oh yeah... that. However, to spare my husbands dignity, I'm going to assume stress has a profound effect on the brain. Toss in some pharmaceuticals with that, and you have yourself a full blown idiot. The anesthesiologist, apparently, has the same sense of humor I do and responds with "I sell life insurance," as he was administering the first injection. Chris, completely misses the dig (must have been the drugs) and comments on how that's a really stable career choice.
Him waking up from anesthesia was perhaps one of the more challenging moments in our marriage and made me realize he's totally a guy in every aspect. In some ways, I take comfort in that knowledge. For me, it means more stories to tell later. Coming out was much like dealing with tourettes without prior warning. Honestly, I wasn't prepared to bargain with a 2 year old again. Since my boys are now 7 and 8, I'm a little out of practice. It took about 2.5 minutes to realize he was stoned. I'm not talking just a little high. We're talking lobotomy stage here. Despite the fact that 2 nurses, the doctor and myself all informed him he's in no position drive, we stood there for at least 20 minutes trying to convince him the passenger seat of the car was the best place for him. It was only after we promised to move the steering wheel to that side of the car that he agreed to get in, and then another 10 minutes of watching him struggle with the seat belt. No matter what we did, his inner guy refused to accept help and ended with him fighting us all off as though we were a pack of wild dogs after a free meal. Instead, he fumbled, fondled and eventually studied the mechanism until he somehow managed to get it to click in. Once buckled, he turned to look at everyone with an extreme sense of pride on his face. Good job, hun! I knew you could do it.
We start the drive home and he's severely overwhelmed. Basic, normal things to me were completely alien to him. According to him he could See emotions and taste colors. Oh boy.. here we go. He went from this
to
to this
and then eventually this
in the space of an hour. Essentially, s**t got real.
"Where did all these people come from? Don't they have jobs?" I wasn't quite sure what he was talking about. Traffic is no worse than usual and we were moving along at a rather steady pace. I try to keep him distracted when I realized he's now seeing triple. This ought to be fun! Because of the number of cars on the road (to him) he decides to challenge my driving skills. THIS, has to be, the most annoying thing guys do and for the life of me, I can't figure out why. I've never had an accident or even a traffic ticket. He, who has stacked up enough cars to fill a car park is telling me "you're doing it wrong."
Then he realizes we didn't move the steering wheel. Now he's mad. At one point he threatens to pull the car over. Ok babe.... you do that... from the passenger seat. I'd actually pay good money to see that accomplished.
We're almost home. I'm trying desperately to hold my composure. Some of the things he was saying nearly had me in tears from laughter. Now driving a car and laughing hysterically to the point you can't see aren't good compounds to mix. The final straw is where he looked at me said "I feel like I should be sitting in a tent with a bunch of Indians."
Confused, I respond with "What do you mean?"
He hesitates for a moment. His eyes grew intensely serious as he said "Gina. I'm about to meet my spirit animal."
I howled! In fact, I laughed so hard I nearly damaged 60% of my internal organs. Tears streamed out of my eyes and the people in the car next to me were looking at me as though I'd stepped out without my clothes on. Knowing this was a rare opportunity for me and no matter what I said, I'd likely be forgiven. I asked "So... is it a guinea pig?"
What a wild ride.