Stop The World I Want To Get Off

I am a crybaby when it comes to pain. I admit that freely and without reservation. A couple of years ago I had some surgery done that required a plastic surgeon. No, I didn't have a facelift! But the incision had to be made on my face and I was sent to a plastic surgeon to minimize the scar.

I cancelled the appointment several times until my wife finally said I had to go. I would have backed out again if she had let me. For some reason, I can't put a lot of confidence in any "professional" that calls what they do a practice. Practice on somebody else. If I have to be cut on I want someone who has had plenty of "practice" on other people.

One thing I did do though, I bought a new billfold and it had a card that you filled out in case of emergency. The card had a place that said "In case of medical emergency call..." The only two choices it gave was mother and father. I crossed those out and wrote doctor. I figure although, I don't have a whole lot of faith in doctors, if I'm laying unconscious in the road, bleeding to death with a severed arm, I'd rather they called a doctor. My mom was good growing up, but I don't think putting iodine on it will fix me this time.

I had never been cut on before. It was an office surgery thing, and I sat in the parking lot in a nervous tremble swearing I wouldn't do it. My wife pried my fingers loose from the steering wheel and drug me into the office.

Once in the office, I found it full of husbands sitting around scared out of their minds. Luckily, all had wives like mine who wouldn't let them back out. One by one, names were called and husbands were drug back into the operating rooms by their wives. I was no different.

To make a long story short, the doctor told me I was a crybaby and that it wouldn't hurt. Anyway, I had my surgery and all went well. This doctor put like a million stitches in a 1.5 inch incision. As such I have no scar. I know you're not supposed to advertise for doctors but if you ever need a good plastic surgeon, I know one. His initials are Freddie Barron.

So, while we were there, my wife was so impressed with his work she asked about having a mole removed. My wife has one of those Cindy Crawford moles in the exact same place as Ms. Crawford. She's had it since she was a kid and it had no health concerns, she just didn't like it. He looked at her mole and gave his ideas on what he could do. He told her when she decided to have it removed to come see him.

Monday she decided it was time.

Well, I figured my wife had been so good about taking me and sitting with me during the surgery, I should return the favor. I drove her to the doctor and unlike me, she just got out and went in. I didn't have to drag her or promise her a bag of Krystals like she did me.

So when they called her name, I thought, I'll go back and sit with her while they do it, like she did for me.

I sat there in the chair while my wife lay on the table getting snipped and stitched. All went just fine and no problems occurred. Well, almost no problems.

I watched the whole thing, everything was great. Then when they started stitching her up I started getting sick. The more I watched the sicker I got. I turned and fidgeted trying to take my mind off things. Then I head the doctor say, "All done." He was right.

As he walked out of the room and the nurse started cleaning my wife up, the whole world began to spin. Right out into the floor I went. Now I don't remember anything after that. My wife tells me the nurse asked her if I was okay.

Fortunately, my wife had the presence of mind to assure her I didn't normally lay in public floors with my eyes rolled back in my head jerking like that. They summoned the doctor back who checked me over and determined, the manly Chip had fainted.

He beats and rubs on my chest until I come to. Then they ask my wife to get up off the table and sit in the chair so that they might lay me down. So here is my wife, three minutes out of surgery having to get up so her idiot husband can lay down. I felt like a dufus.

Then, after a few minutes the doctor decided I was okay to go, and asked my wife how she felt. Then he tells HER to drive me home and warns me not to drive. So my wife has her surgery interrupted by her moron husband then has to drive him home.

Now, my wife has always said when we have kids I have to go back into the delivery room. I don't see the intelligence in that! What good will I be to anyone? All I'm going to do is fall over in the floor. As such I will take a good part of the medical staff that should be attending my wife to wake me up.

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