Season 2 Episode 8 Surgery, Deals & Independence

This video is about Season 2 Episode 8 Surgery, Deals & Independence.

Hi y’all, welcome to Still Stella – Living Life Sarcastically.

This podcast comes with a trigger warning: Extreme sarcasm and mild emotional violence.

Today we’re talking about surgery, deals and independence. 

Did you ya’ll miss me?  I was a little busy with hubby this past week.  He finally had his surgery.

Transcript

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Welcome to Still Stella Living Life Sarcastically Sarcastically Hi y'all welcome to Still Stella Living Life Sarcastically This podcast comes with a trigger warning, extreme sarcasm and mild emotional violence. Today we're talking about surgery, deals, and independence. Now I don't I know those don't sound like they belong together, but welcome to my brain. Nothing in there is organized. It's basically a junk drawer with Wi-Fi. Did y'all miss me? I was just a little busy with hubby this past week because he finally had his surgery. And can you believe I even missed prime days? I know. Take a moment for me. There goes my deep discounts right out the window. My cart was full. I'm talking red light therapy mask, automatic vacuum. Probably a couple of things I absolutely did not need, but somehow convinced myself would improve my quality of life. Ugh Maybe next time. Honestly, it's not like I can't just buy those things anyway. There's just something deeply satisfying about getting a deal. Y'all know exactly what I'm talking about. Oh look what I bought, and I saved fifty dollars. Never mind the fact I spent three hundred Details. Yes, I know. I could have saved even more if I hadn't bought anything. Don't judge me, that's not the point. It's the hunt. It's the thrill. It's convincing yourself that somehow you've beaten a billion dollar corporation. It's like we all become bargain hunters with absolutely no common sense. That automatic vacuum? It'll be ten minute times more satisfying if I got it on sale. Then it'll chase tumbleweeds of dog hair across my floors while I sit on the couch feeling financially victorious. That's the dream. It's probably why people get sucked into Timu. You know, spin the wheel. Congratulations, you've unlocked ninety seven percent off. Wait, there's more. If you order in the next six minutes and twenty two seconds, you'll also receive the crazy lady discount. Plus free shipping. Now we're talking. Somewhere there's a warehouse worker looking at my order thinking, why does this woman need a garlic peeler? Three organizers, a tiny vacuum, twelve silicone lids, and a chicken shaped sponge holder. Mind your business, sir. It's called healin'. Retail therapy is cheaper than actual therapy. Sometimes. Maybe. Hubby home watch. Hubby home watch is still ongoing. We have officially entered the recovery phase. Hubby had surgery just a few days ago. He was honestly a trooper. I have to admit those few days were exhaustin'. The worrying, the planning, the anticipation, the what ifs? You don't realize how mentally exhausting it is until you're living it. We had to drive about two hours to the city for the surgery center. The drive was actually pretty smooth until about thirty minutes before the hotel. Guess what came on? Yep. The engine light. Because apparently, life said, you know what would make this trip better? Anxiety. Thankfully we weren't completely panicked. Our truck has a few years on it. It's basically the family mule. It works hard. It's had a couple, you know, electrical gremlins over the years. Usually it's just some old wire deciding it's time for attention. So we kept going. Made it to the hotel. Everything seemed okay. Now, in my infinite wisdom, I said let's just eat downstairs so we don't have to drive anywhere. Brilliant idea. They had a little bar with wraps, sandwiches, wings, you know, simple stuff. The wraps look pretty good in the pictures. We should have known we were in trouble the moment they said we don't have any wraps right now. Excuse me? Half your menu is wraps. How do you not have wraps? So we settled on chicken sandwiches with tater tots. The sandwich? It was acceptable, not memorable, just existing. Then I bit into those tater tots. Soggy. Nobody, and I mean nobody likes soggy tots. If Napoleon Napoleon dynamite had shown up, he'd have thrown em back. We ate em anyway because we were tired, stressed and hungry. Looking back, I don't think the phone the food caused my stomach to hurt all that much. It was probably anxiety. I was worried about hubby. He was worried about surgery. Nobody slept. The next morning we got showered and headed to the surgery center way too early, because hospitals always want you there before the sun has fully accepted the day. Hubby hasn't had surgery in over thirty years. He was nervous, really nervous. Then they walked in to discuss the nerve block. Bless his heart, he had no idea. Hubby does not enjoy needles at all. The IV was enough excitement already. If you've never had a nerve block, let me paint the picture. You use an ultrasound, then they wiggle a needle around, you know, trying to find the nerve. Wiggle needle. Yes, same sentence. Absolutely not. I would have been negotiating. Can we just not? But he handled it like a champ. The anesthesiologist was fantastic, quick, professional, compassionate. Surgery ended up taking a little longer than expected, so naturally my brain started writing worst case scenarios. Because that's what anxiety does. It deserves an Academy Award. Thankfully, everything went great. Recovery went well. The nurses amazing. Every single person we dealt with was kind, funny, patient, and genuinely cared. Healthcare workers don't hear thank you enough. So if any of you are listening, thank you. Y'all are superheroes wearing scrubs. I loaded Hubby into the truck. He talked the entire drive back to the hotel. Apparently anesthesia turns him into a podcast host. He was carrying on full conversations, making complete sentences, sounding perfectly normal. He even Metech texts his mechanic buddy about that engine light. Meanwhile, he remembers none of it. Nothing. Completely gone. And here's what really hurts. I blew it. I missed my opportunity. I should have asked him the truth about the infamous dish towel. I should have asked if he put girlie up to stealin' it straight out of the kitchen. I could have solved one of life's greatest mysteries. Instead, I acted like a responsible wife. What a waste. That night he kept waking up saying I still can't feel my arm. Yes, that's literally the point. The nerve block is working. Go back to sleep. The next morning we packed up to head home. I'll admit I was still worried about that darn engine light. Y'all, you are not gonna believe this. The light was gone. Just disappeared, like it had hallucinated itself. Didn't come back once. The ride home was mostly smooth, except the nerve block had officially worn off. Poor guy. Then he decided to become a back seat driver. You need to move over. You should slow down. You should sir respectfully be quiet. I have this. Take a nap, heal your shoulder, leave the driving to me. Now I finally understand what he deals with when I'm grabbing imaginary brake pedals from the passenger seat. Marriage is just taking turns, annoying each other. That's true, love. We made it home. Straight to bed he went. Sleep, hubby. Mamma needs three minutes of silence. Or thirty. The fur babies? Completely unimpressed. They looked at us like oh, y'all came back? Tutu stayed with them while we were gone. They were living their absolutely best lives. Puppy Palooza. Special treats, extra playtime, unlimited attention. Her handsome fur baby prince came too. They ran those dogs absolutely ragged. Then he discovered the tortoises. I've never laughed so hard. He just stood there staring, completely confused, like what in the Jurassic Park am I looking at? His little herding instincts were trying so hard to figure them out. Meanwhile, the tortoises couldn't have cared less. They were like we survived dinosaurs, y'all get over it. Ooh recovery doesn't end hubby home watch. It simply unlocks the next level. The doctor says full recovery eight to nine months. Excuse me? Months? Plural? Should someone be checking on me? Maybe hubby home watch needs wellness checks too. Just make sure we're both still alive. Nobody's walked the plank. Nobody's hidden a body. Nobody's smothered anybody with decorative throw pillows. Although, to be fair, starting over with another surgery just sounds exhausting. So he's probably safe. Let's talk about pain scales. Every nurse asks what's your pain from one to ten? Well, who's ten? Because my ten and your ten might be completely different. I've live with chronic pain, so my six might be somebody else's emergency room. Pain is subjective. Women have babies. Men get the sniffles and start updating their wills. I'm kidding. Mostly. Not really. Hubby's doing great. It's just those first few days are rough. Pain is pain. Give yourself some grace. Now let's discuss the great shower debate. Hubby is counting down the days until he can shower. He talks about it constantly. Honestly, I think missin' showers bothers him more than the surgery. Sir, it's one more day. You've slept eighteen hours. You haven't worked up enough sweat to offend anybody. Although, I have to admit, most men would absolutely celebrate doctors' orders telling them to skip bathing. I jumped right back into work. I did take a little time off, but I still worked here and there, because let's be honest, nobody handle things exactly the way you do. You leave for one day, and suddenly everyone forgets how email works. Meanwhile, hubby gets eight to nine months. I had a knee replacement, and I was still working. Apparently, unless someone removes my entire brain, I'm expected to answer those emails. Actually, I'm pretty sure Mikey already had a partial lobotomy, and somehow he's still employed. Lately, I've been wondering maybe it's time to figure out what I want to be when I grow up. Maybe I need a career change. Or maybe it's menopause steering the ship again. Ask me tomorrow. Tomorrow I'll probably forget I ever said this. Brain fog really is nature's delete button. The rage eventually settles, then I go right back to babysitting adults and remindin' them to do the jobs they were hired to do. I genuinely love where I work. I really do. The people are wonderful, mostly. How about y'all? Have you figured out what you want to be when you grow up? Because I still haven't, and I'm okay admitting that. One thing I have learned I have to take care of myself too. You can't pour from an empty cup, especially women. We were raised to make sure everyone else was okay first. Everybody gets fed. Everybody gets taken care of. Everybody else's problems somehow become ours. And somewhere along the way we forget ourselves. Now we're older, we're tired. We're running on caffeine, sarcasm, and hormone fluctuations. People will absolutely take advantage of southern hospitality if you let 'em. So maybe, just maybe, it's okay to book the spa day. It's okay to have lunch with your friends. It's okay to pour the glass of wine, or two. No judgment. Self care isn't selfish, it's maintenance. Just like changing the oil in your truck. See? Full circle. We're coming up on the fourth of July, the two hundred fiftieth anniversary of our independence. Some people think long weekend. Some think fireworks. Others think barbecue. Honestly, all of those are correct. Me? I'm looking forward to slowing down just for a minute. My responsibilities are hubby, the fur babies, and the tortoises. Feed everybody, keep everybody alive, success. As we celebrate America's independence, I also think it's worth celebrating our own, especially those of us from Generation X. We were the latchkey kids, raised on cereal, microwave dinners, water hoses, street lights, bike rides, and the neighborhood mom yelling somebody else's name because she didn't actually know who we belonged to. We learned independence because we didn't have another choice. We figured things out, we solved problems, we entertained ourselves. We survived without GPS, without cell phones, without Google. We actually had to remember phone numbers. Can you imagine? That's why we're stubborn. That's why we're resourceful. That's why when somebody says I don't know how, our first instinct is well, figure it out. It's not because we're mean. It's because that's exactly what we had to do. It made us resilient, independent, strong, and maybe just a little sarcastic. Okay, a lot sarcastic. However you're celebrating Independence Day, be kind to your neighbors. Watch out for veterans who may struggle with fireworks. Watch out for scared pets. Keep your fur baby safe, love your family, enjoy your friends, eat too much barbecue, laugh out loud, make memories, life changes fast, take the pictures, tell people you love them, and don't forget to laugh through the chaos, because sometimes that's all we've got. Marry your lobster, drink the rum, get the deal if it's really a deal, and hug the friends who don't secretly root against you. Thank y'all so much for listening. If you enjoyed today's chaos, follow or subscribe so you don't miss next week's episode, and as always, share it with your real ones. Until next time, keep living life sarcastically. Thank you for listening to Still Stella Living Life Sarcastically.