Post Surgery Percocet

"Am I taking time off from my job?" Scott asked me this morning when he woke up. "What job are you talking about - the development of your recording studio?" I asked. "No, I have a job," he stated somewhat indignantly. "What kind of job is it," I queried, now knowing it was the pain killer talking and not a lucid husband. "An important one; I'm in charge!" Although he couldn't remember from his dream what kind of job it was, the characteristics he described weren't surprising for those of us who know Scott well.

Later today while we had a bite to eat, Scott asked when Steve and Summer (his youngest children) were coming home from school. I looked him in the eye, searching for the twinkle I so often see when he's joking around. Saw none. Again, it was the Percocet talking. I explained that Steve and Summer were adults with families of their own and probably wouldn't be over today, but that we were invited to grandson Addison's 7th birthday party on Saturday. He accepted the explanation, but I sensed  disappointment at the realization his children are grown. Our conversation must have triggered a memory from when his children were little. He started singing, "Trot, trot to Boston, trot trot to Lynn. Trot, trot to Salem and home again," all the while wiggling the tip of his heavily bandaged thumb and hand in time to the music.

Such is the situation when Scott and certain drugs merge. On doctor's orders, he's taking Percocet every 3-4 hours for the pain, but considering what the doctor had to do to remove the joint between his thumb and wrist and then sew the tendons back together, it's no wonder it's painful.

Hopefully, Scott will better appreciate the humor of his healing process in a week or so. Right now, he's spending a lot of time just checking the back of his eyelids for holes and fabricating post surgery, Percocet-producing phantasma.