Bush is guarding Rove like his ass is stuffed with gold. Turdblossom knows where all the bodies are buried.

When DH came out from under the anesthesia from having his wisdom teeth cut out he got violently and verbally abusive. I was sitting in the waiting room reading a magazine when they asked me to come back and calm him down. He was flailing his arms and swearing in a garbled, out-of-it way. I've never been so frightened in my life. He calmed down when I spoke to him but it freaks me out to this day.

This same thing happens to me. The last time, my dad came in and said, "Al, if you don't calm down, we'll never get out of here."

And that was that. And then there's no grogginess at all. It's like an adrenaline shot.

I've had to talk Hubby down a couple of times, but it wasn't anger, it was panic at being so disoriented. I put a hand on him, he took hold of my wrist and stared into my eyes. If I tried to look at anything else he'd start to panic, so I just stared back at him.

Kind of nice to be his anchor, but spooky too.

Ben's was definitely more panic than anything else too, connie. Even without the memory loss, it was scary.

I've killed the last three threads in which I've posted. Can I take down Natter, too?

I put a hand on him, he took hold of my wrist and stared into my eyes.

At one point during that particular experience, she seemed to recognize me when she looked at my face, but then after a while she looked away and was gone again.

Really, I don't think anything else in my life has ever upset me quite so much as that one particular night.

I've killed the last three threads in which I've posted. Can I take down Natter, too?

You're why we can't have nice threads, Cindy.

I've killed the last three threads in which I've posted. Can I take down Natter, too?

No.

It's fascinating to read everyone's varied reactions to the exact same meds. My reactions have also been completely random:

Nitrous oxide makes me weep;
morphine takes away the pain beautifully but then I puke (coming down off the morphine post birth, I just narrowly missed throwing up on Matilda's head) and my skin gets unbearably itchy;
Vicodin takes away the pain and has absolutely no other effect whatsoever;
fentanyl dulls but doesn't eliminate the pain, and takes me to a dreamy faraway space in which I peacefully contemplate the fact of my pain as if it were an amusing incident occurring to someone I used to be rather fond of.

Come to think of it, fentanyl was kind of fun.

Heh. Snagged from Salon, here's a snippet of a Tony Snow op-ed regarding Exeuctive Privilege during the Ken Starr investigations:

*********

Tony Snow - Op-Ed - Dallas Morning News, March 29, 1998 :

(HEADLINE: "Executive Privilege is a Dodge")

Evidently, Mr. Clinton wants to shield virtually any communications that take place within the White House compound on the theory that all such talk contributes in some way, shape or form to the continuing success and harmony of an administration. Taken to its logical extreme, that position would make it impossible for citizens to hold a chief executive accountable for anything. He would have a constitutional right to cover up.

Chances are that the courts will hurl such a claim out, but it will take time.

One gets the impression that Team Clinton values its survival more than most people want justice and thus will delay without qualm. But as the clock ticks, the public's faith in Mr. Clinton will ebb away for a simple reason: Most of us want no part of a president who is cynical enough to use the majesty of his office to evade the one thing he is sworn to uphold -- the rule of law.

What happens if a President starts this process with the public's faith already having ebbed to almost nothing?

They used to give me compazine as an anti-nausea precaution, but I just can't. It gives me a panic attack and I have to leave the hospital as soon as possible. So I don't even stay around to get enough painkillers.

I can't combat it. It's very disquieting.

When I came out of my first general, after I don't even remember what, I needed to know the time. Then I'd drop out again, wake up, and need to know the time. Since I didn't have a watch and there was no clock in the room, the nurses didn't like me much, since I beeped them every time I came to.

They also ended up binding my hand to a board because I was flailing enough that blood was going *up* the IV.

My last IV dilaudid turned into intra-muscular when the needle slipped out of the vein when they went back for the second 2mg. The nurse didn't notice I was in pain, mostly because I kept staring at the IV site and frowning, muttering "That really hurts. That shouldn't hurt. Ow."

Luckily I don't go to the ER alone, so my friend ran out and got her back in. She shrugged and said "Well, intra-muscular will take longer, but it'll last longer." And that was pretty much it. No way to undo it.