I have never ever shared this story with another soul. My boys were 6 and 7 when I had minor surgery. Well, what I had was, I had my tubes tied. I loved my little boys – but they were total boys and I didn't want to have two more like them, so I had my tubes tied. It was to be a short, in and out, slice and dice teeny surgery and I'd be home again in four hours, fulfilling my Mommy role with aplomb. That is before I discovered that I am a tad bit allergic to anesthesia. I'm not really allergic – I am just plain nauseated by the whole thing, all day long, every 15 minutes.
So, finding out that I was pretty much totally incapacitated, a very close girl friend came by to watch the boys and let me rest. She brought dinner, too – Kentucky Fried Chicken. Yummmm. Only my little aversion to anesthesia seemed to cover chicken too. So the boys and Sherry ate to their hearts content.
I vegged on the couch being careful to keep my nose pinched shut.
And then Sherry went to the bathroom to wash little boys' hands free of chicken grease.
She came back and said – "so, I realize every time you've gone in there that you have had your head hanging down in preparation for praying to the porcelain god – but you have missed some interesting artwork on the ceiling. . . ."
My curiosity peeked – I shuffled in to the bathroom and looked at the ceiling and tried to fit it in my brain. What is that? What are those things? It looked like white rats with tails splotched to the ceiling – a dozen of them. All over the ceiling. And then I saw my now empty box of tampons on the floor. Those creatures were soggy tampons, soaked in water (thank God), and flung to the ceiling with little boy hands, splayed out like spread eagled squashed mice, tails hanging down in defeat.