In keeping with this week’s theme of STEVE, I give you this picture. It surfaced when we were unpacking our volumes and volumes of books, and I have been trying to come up with a post ever since. Then I said to myself, “Self, this photo needs no context. It stands on it’s 90’s-hits-trumpet-sheet-music own.”

With the packing successfully removed, and the healing set to begin, Steve is trying out different looks to disguise his swollen proboscis.

So instead of getting a phone call from Steve on Friday morning telling me how awesome it was to no longer have two gigantic tampons shoved up his nose, I instead got a call telling me that he was scheduled to be back in pre-op at noon. Dwuh?

Turns out that although the packing came out of one side fine, when the doctor went to remove the other side Steve experienced the OH MY HOLY JEEBUS I’M GONNA DIE kind of pain. Thusly, the doctor did some investigating. I know what you are all thinking – no, there weren’t any keys or loose change in there. He did, however, find a giant hematoma bulging over the tops of the splints. About the time the doctor started asking if he had eaten yet, it became clear what this meant. Surgery. Again. Today. Non-negotiable.

Considering the surgery was scheduled for 1:00, I spent the next hour lining up my Plan B Team. [Thank you Judi and Andrea for everything.] Once the kids were addressed, we headed down for round two.

Although the first round of recovery was not exactly comfortable, the second can definitely be filed under G, as in Grounds for Divorce. They packed everything tighter to eliminate any additional bleeding, plus going under general anesthetic twice in 4 days is, well, its pretty crappy. Not to mention the disappointment of having to start recovery all over again.

He goes in first thing Monday to have the packing removed. Again. Hopefully with no references to Jeebus this time.

Yesterday Steve had a nose job. Well, not so much a nose job as a septum job. A septoplasty, to be exact. No, it wasn’t because of all those drugs he did in the 70s, but rather because his septum was contorted to one side so severely that I was tempted to ask him to carry all my loose change and keys in it.

Men being men, and Steve being one of them meant that there was no way he was ever going to actually do anything about it, even though the Ear-Nose-Throat doc he saw when he went through his round of sleep studies 10 years ago told him he should. Enter, the wife.

At Porter’s last ear-tube check-up I casually inquired about the procedure, and indicated that my husband had been recommended for it a while back. He suggested setting up an appointment. You can imagine the joy and excitement when I came home and handed Steve an appointment card for the following Thursday. So one thing leads to another and the next thing we knew Steve was heading into surgery. He came out an hour and forty five minutes later wearing a nose bra.