When your schnoz is hopelessly crooked.

You know my handsome, sweet, amazing, all-other-gag-worthy-modifiers husband Dill?

(Ahem, insert mandatory super-cute picture:)



Before yesterday, Dill couldn't breathe through both nostrils simultaneously like the rest of us cool people. You see, his septum -- that thing that divides your nostrils -- had been crooked (aka "deviated") for many years and this situation wasn't making nasal respiration easy for him.

So yesterday, he got that there septum fixed! Yaaaay.

It was a cakewalk for me. I dropped him off in the wee morning hours and then they called me to come get him when he was done. We live about five minutes from the hospital where this all went down which was highly convenient.

Here's the funny part: I, the woman who has given birth to not one but TWO children, who has been sliced open while awake and has seen her own blood smeared across an entire delivery room ... I took one look at Dill in his hospital gown and bloody gauze dressing and yes, I started getting lightheaded and blacking out.

I can't make this stuff up.

The nurse was relaying all the discharge information to me when I suddenly felt warm and heard that all-too-familiar buzzing in my ears. Having passed out many times before, I quickly told the nurse it was getting hot in there and I was seeing stars and then my butt found the closest chair. Within seconds, another nurse came in with a cold, wet rag and a Styrofoam cup of apple juice. Nurses take this fainting business seriously, I guess.

How embarrrrrrrrassing. I mean, I wasn't the one who'd had her nose hacked into just hours before. And yet I had the nerve to get queasy and require medical attention! Oh man! I'll never live this down.

In the meantime, I'm playing nurse (not naughty nurse; get yo' mind outta the gutter!) to my recovering husband. It's extremely sexy, changing bloody dressings and dispensing his pills. Let me tell you.

One thing we know for sure is I could never be a REAL nurse. I'd probably spend more time with my head between my knees drinking apple juice than actually tending to sick people.

I've said it once and I'll say it again: Nurses are saints.

Any tips to speed up Dill's recovery? Or maybe some embarrassing stories to help me feel better, since my ego is clearly wounded.

P.S. That weird-o alien circle is still on my face. It dried up and flaked off last night, but the pink outline is still there. Starting to freak me out.