One more story about my fabulous surgery, and I swear, I'll stop:
The husband drove me to get my STAPLES plucked from my abdomen. That went fine, with the husband sitting in the really tiny room with me laying on the bed thingy, the doctor plucking STAPLES from my belly and some resident standing there pretending that this whole thing was a lot more fun than texting her friends.
The husband was slightly mortified when I told the doctor I had some questions and one of the questions I asked was when we could start having sex again [the husband and I] [NOT the doctor and I, although I'm sure he's a lovely man and wild in the sack] [What? I needed to know.] [About me and the husband, not about the doctor]. I was slightly put off that the doctor told me to go ahead with my questions so he could answer them while he was removing the STAPLES, because YOU NEED TO BE PAYING ATTENTION TO THAT SHIT, but he did a good job answering questions and the husband did not spontaneously combust or flee from the room. Mostly because he was stuck in the corner and couldn't get out.
Anyway, after that bit of mortification, we headed to the elevator and as we were walking, we ended up going single file because an elderly couple was coming toward us down the ridiculously narrow hallway. The woman was slowly making her way, using her silver and red cane to aid her, and her husband was behind her, using his silver and blue cane to shuffle along. Just after we passed them, the husband turned around to me, and we both said at the same time, "We're getting matching canes."
I think this may be less a story about surgery than it is about true love.