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Chapter 11 "Love is...Binding" 
8/7/04 Having surgery isn't easy, but what comes after may be even harder. No one completely prepares you for what's ahead (or I should say--what's below). You take painkillers, of course. If you're lucky, the hospital staff will dig into their bag of medical euphemisms and tell you that these painkillers are "binding." I know what you're thinking. "Binding like superglue? Can I use them for household projects, and crafts?" You can certainly try, but what it really means is that your body has now become the culinary equivalent of a roach motel. Meals go in, but they don't come out. The nurse instructed me to take a "stimulant" to get things moving. Since this was my second time around the surgery block in less than a month, I already had a box of said "stimulant" on hand. My operation was on Monday, by Friday I needed another box. What else did I need? A little relief. A moist, soothing, Tucks medicated pad sort of relief. So Danny and I decided my very first post-hospital outing would be to purchase these items. While at the store, I decided I wanted some new underwear. There's nothing classier than shrink wrapped bundles of bloomers, so into the cart flew a barrage of packages in various colors and trendy styles. After the panty frenzy, I grew tired. Not surprisingly, I had the vim and vigor of a sloth on muscle relaxers. We had to go. 
As we approached the check-out counter, I glanced over the contents of my cart and suddenly became possessed by the spirit of a teenage girl buying tampons when the cute guy is working (Like, O my GOD! Eeeeek!)
My purchase included the following: 1. two boxes of extra strength chocolate Ex-Lax, 2. one economy size tub of Tucks medicated hemorrhoid pads, 3. five packages of Hanes Her Way cotton ladies briefs. 
There was no way I could possibly bring myself to walk up to the counter, place my items on it and look that kid straight in the eye. I could deal with surgery. I could deal with "binding" painkillers. I could not deal with being there when that high school cashier put a story together in his head (Hmm...Ex-lax AND twenty-five pairs of underwear?)
I stood there paralyzed. Then Danny (like the cowboy that he is) grabbed the goods, marched up to the counter and paid. He paid with his head held high. I mumbled something about putting the cart back and giggled off like a schoolgirl. When the transaction was complete, he found me cowering by the exit. He took my hand and we rode off into the sunset, laxative and all. And that--is what love is. |