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Old 02-27-2008, 09:11 AM
LesleyJoy
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Default We are going to New Zealand!(long)

The following has nothing whatsoever to do with the profession of nursing, but what happened is too good to keep to myself.

You see, it all started with my husband's agreement to prepare dinner for me so that I may, in regal and matronly splendor, remain in bed. And prepare it he did. A glass of skim milk, a glass of water, a half cup of green beans and his specialty: a 10,000 calorie hamburger. He brought his lovely offering to me with becoming modesty. Only the twinkle in his eye betrayed his gastronomic satisfaction.

He left me to enjoy my meal in peace. I ate the green beans. I swallowed a drink of milk. That took a bit of doing as I was flat on my back with my head raised upon a pillow. I carefully returned the glass to its tiny space on my bedside table. I then took a bite of the hamburger. Its juiciness ran over my hands, down my face and onto my pillow. I returned the hamburger to the plate which was resting on my tummy. I dabbed my face, hair, neck and pillow with a paper napkin. I forgot about my hands. I reached for the milk. I had just gotten the rim of the glass to my lips when the grease won. The glass slipped. A gallon or so of milk slopped into my unprepared mouth and half way down my throat.

Time stopped.

I needed to breathe. I knew I shouldn't breathe. Humans are not meant to breathe cow's milk. I needed to cough. I knew I shouldn't cough. Coughs are followed by inhalations - which at that time would not be of blessed air, but of more milk. I needed to sit up. I knew I should not sit up because then the plate containing that artery-clogging sandwich would fall over onto my beautiful cream-colored matelasse bedspread staining it beyond redemption.

I needed to breathe. But I needed to sit up first. In order to do this I had to put the glass down on the bedside table in precisely the correct spot so as to avoid knocking over the water glass or upsetting the tippy pile of books I had stacked there. This lesser problem was solved for me when the greasy and now empty milk glass slipped out of my hand. It struck the water glass. Water inundated the poor books. Then both glasses and a few books fell off the table and onto the area rug. I remember listening to the water dripping off of the table and onto the rug. It made a pretty sound. Musical.

I needed to breathe. And soon. As I lay there in my regal, matronly and now soggy splendor, I distinctly remember weighing my options. I thought about just inhaling the rest of the milk. Choking to death is not all that difficult, but I couldn't see my husband successfully explaining to the police just exactly how his otherwise healthy wife had drowned in bed. Besides, I know all the paramedics in town. I simply could NOT die while wearing those ratty pajamas.

I needed to breathe. I really needed to breathe. So, grabbing the plate with both hands, I gave an almighty cough as I tried to sit up.

Did I tell you the foot of the bed was elevated at the time?

Imagine a rather stout, middle-aged woman, her face, hair and hands dripping with milk and hamburger, desperately clinging to a greasy dish and coughing as she makes herself into a 'V'. Her face is a mottled purple. Her every effort to clear her airway causes her legs, trapped under her lovely bedspread, to fly up into the air, which - of course - causes her upper body to slam back down onto the bed.

The noise of my travail caused my husband to investigate. But he was no help. In fact, after his first open-mouthed moment in the doorway, he spent the rest of my crisis laughing. Howling, rather. Holding his sides, leaning against the wall and howling.

I won't keep you in suspense. I did eventually regain a patent airway. I have had a shower. I am wearing my best jammies. The bed has been changed. The linen is in the wash. The area rug has been dabbed. The books are airing.

My husband OWES me. Big time. I'm thinking a month or two in New Zealand sounds about right. With an entirely new wardrobe thrown in, too.

Resolved to making my own meals for the rest of my miserable life,

Joy
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Old 02-28-2008, 03:03 AM
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And with reflective practice what did we learn?

Don't eat in bed! For one, it put crumbs in the bed.
Always wear you most sensible and CLEAN underwear/PJs.
Husbands can always see the funny side of things and thus should be punished.

(For some reason I keep seeing a lady in flannel pajamas flinging her legs up in the air as she sits up, over and over again.)
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Old 02-28-2008, 09:22 AM
LesleyJoy
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Originally Posted by P/J View Post
And with reflective practice what did we learn?

Don't eat in bed! For one, it put crumbs in the bed.
Always wear you most sensible and CLEAN underwear/PJs.
Husbands can always see the funny side of things and thus should be punished.

(For some reason I keep seeing a lady in flannel pajamas flinging her legs up in the air as she sits up, over and over again.)
Oh, P/J! LOL!!!

What did "we" learn? That laughter is a very good medicine, indeed!

My husband does not mind crumbs. He says that sharing his bed with a beautiful woman is worth the occasional composting issue. We have been married for 33 years, so I think he means it.

You are almost correct about the pajamas. I was wearing, in fact, a white cotton nightgown. A threadbare, ankle-length, sleeveless, white cotton nightie with a ring of pink flowers at the neckline. It is almost as old as my marriage. And it did not appreciate being soaked with milk and hamburger. I think enough time has passed for it to have forgiven me, though.

And about New Zealand... we will go just as soon as we possibly can, although such travel may be years away. I fully intend to go on a walking tour of both islands. My husband intends to fish and fish and fish. I suppose we will see each other every few weeks and have grand stories to tell each other.

Thank you again, P/J, for the laugh.

Joy
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