I haven't been posting because things have been pretty white knuckled these last few weeks.
James came out of his procedure fighting mad. Literally. He started roaring before he came fully out of the general anesthesia; as soon he could talk, he was howling at the top of his lungs: "Owwwwww!!! It hurts! It HURTS!!!!!" and bucking on the gurney. I tried telling him I was there and everything was over and he was ok.
"No, it is NOT ok!!"
"These people are NOT NICE!!!"
"I HATE San Francisco. It is NOT GOOD FOR YOUR HEALTH!!!!"
Then the recovery room fun really began.
"aaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!! It hurts! IT HURTS!!" He hollered, as he thrashed about, kicking off his blankets and reveling the fact that he'd somehow also shucked the hospital gown and was now completely clothing-free.
Then he grabbed the IV line in his foot: "Get this OFF OF MEEEEEEE!!!" and almost yanked it out right then and there. We got hold of him as gently as we could and tried unsuccessfully to calm him. The nurse removed the IV line as soon as she saw he was as good as he was going to get and offered James a Spiderman band-aid. "I don't WANT a STUPID band-aid!" he informed her, before being reminded that the polite way to refuse something. "No. thank. you," he tersely amended his statement.
The recovery room nurse was so nice. Everyone one we met there was fabulously helpful and nice. But before too long the "it's okay, some people come out of anesthesia like that" changed to "okay, you can go now!" I got a big hug on the way out and was told to take care of myself.
But it was not over yet, oh no.
As we wheeled into the elevator to leave the building, a group of older people slowly got on the elevator in front of us. One lady saw James and kindly tried a smile at him. "I don't like you!" he yelled. I died a little more inside, apologised to her, and then apprised James, in a low voice, that he'd just lost iPad privileges for a good chunk of the afternoon.
I won't even go into line to get to the machine at the parking garage because the group in front of me didn't have their ticket and were trying to pay anyhow. If you wish, picture that with construction crews spray painting around us and James wailing for all he's worth on the sidelines. OMG with a side of lalalalalalala.
We did make it home without incident. James even ate some ice cream. Then I went in to work for a bit and made websites better.
Then James refused to eat PERIOD. Because food is evil, his throat and tummy were sore, and he still did not want to poop. See what you missed?