(My husband and I have been married for eight years. We’ve both been married before. I’m about to have surgery, and the nurse is confirming all my personal information. My husband starts talking to the nurse.)
 
Husband: “Wait, why does this say her middle name is Jane?”
 
Me: “What?”
 
Husband: “She doesn’t have a middle name.”
 
Me: “Um. Yes I do. My middle name is Jane. You didn’t know that?”
 
Husband: “You said you didn’t have a middle name!”
 
Me: “Wait a minute. [First wife] doesn’t have a middle name, does she?”
 
Husband: “…oh, s***.”

(My husband and I, who are in our early 20s, are on the top floor of a hospital and get on the elevator. He pushes all the buttons. On the next floor down, other people get in the elevator.)

Me: “I told you not to push all the buttons because someone else would get on.”

(I’m not really upset with him since there are only six floors, but I figured the other people might like an explanation.)

Elevator rider: “That’s okay. My nephew does the same thing.”

Me: “But he’s probably four, right?”

Elevator rider: “No, he’s seventeen.”

Husband: “I told you it’d be okay.”

(My husband is deployed in Afghanistan. My appendix has ruptured, so I have been given powerful painkillers in the Emergency Room. My husband calls, and an ER tech who is sitting near my bed to monitor my breathing hands me my phone.)

Me: “Lello?”

Husband: “Hey sweetheart, did I wake you up?”

Me: “I don’t think so. Hey [tech], was I asleep?”

Tech: “Not asleep so much as knocked out.”

Husband: “Who is that? Where the h*** are you?”

Me: “That is [tech]. I am… somewhere. Not at home.”

Husband: “Where is [daughter's name]?”

Me: “The commies took her. You… you can come home now, Obama has his camels, we don’t need any more. They’re at the zoo. My tummy doesn’t hurt anymore, but I think they’re going to cut it anyway.”

Husband: *yelling* “What is going on? Are you on drugs? Where is [daughter]?”

Tech: “Can I talk for a minute? Hi, Mr [name]. This is [tech] at [hospital]. Your wife is okay, her appendix ruptured and she’s on some very powerful painkillers until we can get her into surgery. Your daughter is with your mother-in-law. Here’s your wife back.”

Me: “Hey there. I’m feeling sleepy now. I think I’m gonna… Love you… Don’t get shot, okay?”

Husband: “Okay, go to sleep.”

(I found out later that he had gotten halfway to the commander’s tent to get an emergency flight back to the country because he thought I had been drugged and kidnapped. His commander had flowers sent to my hospital room with a note asking me to please not do that again.)

Related:
Love, And Other Drugs

(My girlfriend has just woken up after a general anaesthetic. She is feeling nauseous and dehydrated, so has been given a unit of saline.)

Me: *after the saline has been infused and the drip has been removed* “Do you feel better now they’ve taken your drip away?”

Her: *woozy but smiling* “But you’re still here…” *head collapses into the mattress*

(I’m having a very long, difficult labor, and finally deliver my son late in the evening after nearly 24 hrs. The next morning, the woman in the bed next to me has so many flowers arriving for her that the nurses have to bring in extra tables for them all. My parents send a weird looking planter shaped like a blue lamb. My husband walks in and looks around.)

Husband: “Oh, I should’ve sent you flowers. But, what the h***…you can just look at hers!”

(We are now divorced.)