Well, on a sad note, the accordion man appears to have checked out of the hotel today. Blaine and I were treated to about three hours worth of practice this morning, then it stopped around 11am and we haven’t heard anything since. Of course, it’s possible we just couldn’t hear anything over the EXTREMELY LOUD volume at which I was watching the finale’ of Dancing With The Stars. (Who do you want to win? Mario or Emmit? I seriously can’t choose; they are both so stinkin’ cute that I want them to TIE for first place!) It’s too bad about the accordion music, though, as I had promised to lead Blaine in a rousing rendition of the German Polka this evening. I’m sure he’s severely disappointed.
You remember I mentioned the snoring in last night’s post? Well, I wish I could better describe the noise … the racket …. the 500 decibel jet-engine CLAMOR that is coming from his body. It’s not cute-snoring, or even the only-mildly-annoying-snoring that people do when they’re really, really tired. It’s the chainsaw cutting of wood-type noise, and it stops and starts in fits and jerks and he’s moaning in his sleep and exhaling and groaning and OHMYGOD I can’t take it any more. Logically, I understand that it’s because of the nature of the surgery. They’ve engrafted SO MUCH tissue to the roof of his mouth, and the back of his throat, and it’s swollen, and stitched, and raw, and quite frankly I’m amazed he can breathe at all, so it’s really no wonder that he’s snoring. Plus, because of the drainage and the incisions, he has to sleep in as semi-reclined position, on his back. Certainly not comfortable. I’m trying to be sympathetic, but must confess, it’s making me crazy. He sounds like how I assume a 400 pound person with sleep apnea would sound.
And I know he’s not resting. One doesn’t *rest* when one is continuously jerking and shaking and coughing and gagging and struggling for breath as if you have a sock stuffed in your mouth. Neither, unfortunately, does one’s wife.
Further proof that he is insanely sleep deprived? How about the conversation we had last night …. He had been “sleeping” about half an hour, then he jerked up and started ripping the covers off the bed. I was sitting next to him, checking my e-mail with the computer on my lap, and I looked over, completely bemused as to what he was doing:
Blaine: “Holy Shit! Did you see that?” (still yanking at the covers)
Me: “What? WHAT?” (thinking holy cow, if we have bedbugs I will have a heart attack)
Blaine, frantic: “Did you see it? Did you???”
Me: “Blaine, calm down. What is wrong? Tell me what’s wrong.”
Blaine: “I was having contractions. But I can’t tell the difference between the real contractions and the fake contractions”
(OK, so now, I’m trying really hard not to laugh at him, and go on to use my most indulgent, soothing voice.)
Me: “Honey, you dreamed you were having a baby?”
And he looked at me, looked me right in the eye, with the most disgusted, you-are-a-total-ignoramus look on his face and said, “You know I can’t carry a baby”
Then he leaned back, closed his eyes, sighed, and continued: “But the scientists say soon all the ice will be gone and we’ll be closer then.”
And then he went back to sleep, and was snoring again within thirty seconds.
Closer to whom?
Closer to what?
Closer to men having babies?
In the meantime, I think he seriously needs to rest. At least until the ice is all gone.
PS. He had no recollection of this conversation this morning and swears I made the whole thing up.