Terms of impairment

I recently saw the best hospital waiting room sign ever in Area C at Troy Beaumont: “Keep calm and don’t move the furniture.” What a world we live in. On top of war, pestilence, greed and disaster, there are actually people who rearrange waiting room furniture.

Good grief. Who does that? Sufferers of serious PMS, I suppose. (Speaking from experience.)

Or those who bring their entire immediate family, including bawling infants, to the hospital and set up camp. (Speaking from the experience of being subjected to this.)

I know. I have a lot of experience, particularly in the wellness arena. I’m not a doctor, but I could play one on TV. Of that I am certain.

It’s Saturday, October 28, 2023, about 2 p.m., the day after my beloved’s total shoulder arthroplasty (a.k.a., the “other” TSA) replacement surgery.

With post-anesthesia “make-no-important-decisions” brain fog, she opted to come home instead of spending one night in the hospital. Dumb call, doc.

No one asked me. Doesn’t matter. But if you’re offered a night with professionals, take it.

Friday’s procedure went like clockwork, and everything was great until about 9 p.m. Then all hell broke loose. The pain was excruciating, unlike any she had ever experienced.

And Rebecca didn’t feel so good either. (A little caregiver humor there.)

Seriously, the woman who never complains about anything was in sheer agony. Everything hurt. Really. Bad. I felt queasy seeing her like this.

The incredibly amazing infusion pain pump, which they assured us would be her BFF for the next 3-4 days ghosted her. Epic friendship fail. It wasn’t even touching her shoulder pain.

So, I looked for “the number to call if anything goes wrong.” I couldn’t find it in any of her discharge papers. All I could find was “the number to call if you have a pain pump.” We were so screwed.

But there was always Norco, a wonder drug combining hydrocodone and acetaminophen to relieve moderate to severe pain. Not as high risk for dependence as oxycodone, but still, Norco’s an opioid and may be habit-forming. Who cares?

Rebecca: “Pain pump’s not working … it’s not enough … I want more dripping … why why why?!”

Me: Take the Norco, hon.

“I don’t want to get addicted.”

You won’t, sweetie.

“What if I run out and need more?”

We will hunt down a dealer, disguise ourselves as drug runners and buy more stuff. Darling.

“For the love of God … TAKE THE NORCO!”

That was me again. No italics necessary.

Remember the Academy Award-winning 1983 film “Terms of Endearment” when Shirley MacLaine’s character Aurora Greenway screamed at nurses to give her daughter Emma (played by Debra Winger) more pain medicine? This was like that only worse. Here’s a brief recap of the classic scene:

Aurora Greenway: Excuse me. It is after 10. Give my daughter the pain shot, please.

Nurse: Mrs. Greenway, I was going to.

Aurora: Oh, good, go ahead.

Nurse: In just a few minutes.

Aurora: Well, please – it’s, it’s after 10. It’s after 10. I don’t see why she has to have this pain.

Nurse: Ma’am, it’s not my patient.

Aurora: It’s time for her shot! Do you understand? Do something! All she had to do is hold out until 10! And it’s past 10! She’s … in pain, my daughter’s in pain! Give her the shot, do you understand me?

Nurse: You’re going to behave …

Aurora: Give my daughter the shot!

(Nurse gives Emma the shot.)

Aurora: Thank you very much. Thank you.

That night, I became the widow Greenway and frankly, deserved an Oscar: Best Supporting Partner in a Highly Stressful Suburban Setting.

To quote Aurora: “Grown women are prepared for life’s little emergencies.”

Yes. We. Are. Thank you very much. Thank you.

Rebecca took the Norco. It helped. Then another at 3:30 a.m.

By 8 a.m., a kind soul named Nurse Jackie called back to give us the lowdown on infusion pain pumps and anything else we asked about. We invited her to come over for lunch, but she had more patients to call.

As Dinah Washington sang, what a difference a day makes. Twenty-four little hours. Even the banter improved.

Rebecca: “This Narco is enjoyable.”

Me: You mean Norco?

“Yes, Narco, because I’m like, you know, a ‘Narc.’”

So, you’re a Narc trippin’ on Norco, eh?

“Yes, but I’m aware that I’m trippin’, obviously.”

Obviously. 

“Take these roasted peanuts and candy corn, for instance. I looked down at them earlier, and they were dancing. Like tiny little bodies.”

The nuts or the corn?

“The corn, silly. Obviously.”

Obviously. Did these autumnal candies have rhythm?

“Oh yeah.”

That’s interesting. Why did you just chuckle?

“No, that was you.”

It wasn’t.

“What’s so funny?”

That you’re trippin’ on Narco, I mean, Norco. How’s your pain level?

“It’s not bad because I’m picturing it flowing through my veins like apple juice and bathing my shoulder.”

Whatever you say, babe. Keep the faith, and trust the science.

“Maybe I should read Lessons in Chemistry.”

Maybe later. Time for a nap, my little Narc.