Well. That Was Fun.

Two things I now know for sure: a hospital guest "bed" is probably one of the most uncomfortable things known to man and hurt husbands take cranky to a whole new level.
If you follow me on Facebook or instagram, you probably know Rob had an accident early last Friday morning and was in the hospital for seven days. He was at a job site and was walking down the side of a house when he slipped on an icy patch and fell straight back onto a rock. An ambulance came (he couldn't move - they had to cut off his shirt and jacket) and he subsequently broke four ribs and collapsed a lung. (He tried to do a better job when he fell off a 16 foot ladder back in August, where he broke an elbow. Always striving to do better, that one.)
I'll never forget the sounds I heard coming from him when they inserted the chest tube. He had just gotten to the ER and hadn't had a drop of pain medication when they had to shove the thing in. It was worse than the wailing I do when I realize I'm out of vodka and I'm too buzzed already to drive myself to the store and get some more, let's put it that way.
When we first got to the hospital that morning, the ER doc said Rob would be staying one, two days max. I even left and went back to work figuring eh, broken ribs, chest tube, no big deal and besides, someone has to pay for this looming hospital bill.
It wasn't until I showed back up and realized yeah, a little more serious than we first thought. He got moved to the surgical floor and his new doctor said three to five days, minimum. Seven days later, we were home free.
But those seven days...OMG let me tell you what. If you can survive seven days in a smelly hospital room with your significant other, where he/she is in a tremendous amount of pain and tensions are high and emotions are bipolar (thanks to the wonderful world of morphine drips) well then you better start reserving the baptist church hall for your 50 year anniversary celebration because if you can weather that, you can weather anything.
I swear. Hurt husbands are worse than hurt children.
Rob was a pretty good sport however, and kept his wits about him, challenging the old man on oxygen next door to a hallway race and joking with the nurses "does this tube make me look fat?" He also had quite a few visitors day in and day out, which surprised me because yes, I always knew he was a good guy and loved by many but I guess I just didn't expect that many people to stop by and offer their condolences, which was pretty cool. I like to think I would have had more visitors but I guess not everything has to be a competition.
Speaking of nurses, I would like to point out that almost every single nurse we had was amazing. Helpful, nice and considerate, as was the doctor we saw for 2.3 seconds once a day. There was one "nurse" however, named Emily (not the Emily who looks like Sabrina -- that Emily we loved!) but this particular Emily was a total bitch to me. Sorry but there is no other way to put it. It was near the end of the week and I was already stressed out to the max after sleeping day in and out at that godforsaken place and all I did was ask for one gosh-darn pillow and little miss Emily couldn't find a single one for me in the entire f*cking hospital. Mmhmm, likely story. Tack on her rude and condescending attitude towards me and well, here you end up on my blog.
And if you're wondering why I called her out...because this.
On a lighter note, my cousin Lindsey said perhaps she was mean to me because I wasn't wearing a bra, as in she was insinuating I was just letting it all hang out without containing the girls. (I got some comments on the family photo posted above, where you can almost just barely see a pokey.)
I would like to state for the record that I was wearing a tight undershirt underneath my regular tee, and after I got my breast aug done my nipples became hard and never stopped. It's not my fault they're always at attention.
Just blame the girl with hard nipples...I see how it is.
Get well soon Rob.