Valium, Please

The spouse had back surgery this week. As far as being a patient goes, he is NOT patient.

Here is a prime example of how the spouse appreciates limitations being placed on his activity level. We get home from the hospital and pull into the garage. I am in the yard talking to my sister on the cell. Hear a noise behind me. The spouse is taking off down the driveway in the golf cart, still in his hospital gown and booties. OK, fine, he was in regular clothes, but is that as good a visual? No, it isn't.

Did he not get the part about no driving for two weeks? There was not a footnote that said, "Except golf carts." You've had surgery on your spine, dear. That might affect your ability to sit upright comfortably. Or to apply the brake. Both of which are important in operating a motor vehicle, I believe. Yes, a golf cart is considered a motor vehicle.

I finally get him inside and head to the pharmacy to pick up sixty percocet and sixty valium. Are you kidding me? SIXTY of EACH? (I think the valium is for me, actually.) As I walk out the door, the spouse asks me to stop at the grocery and get some beer. Sure, when I go to pick up your percocet and valium I will stop at the grocery and get you some BEER. Mixing heavy narcotics and alcohol is highly recommended within five hours of surgery. By the way, where is the life insurance policy?

One of us may die soon. Place your bets. And please pass the valium.