Friday, October 19, 2007

I have been told that hospitals love to turf people out...

Not so. True, the surgeon says he sees no reason I should stay. The cleaner has stripped my bed. I found my clothes and put them on. Packed my toothbrush. Looked through the 8 New Yorkers someone kindly gave me and threw out 7. My ride is present.

Still, a strange languor seems to have come over the staff at this juncture. No one will say what we are waiting for, but we wait. Finally a nurse comes into the room and says she hasn't made reservations for a rehab in Delaware. I say, forget it, write the prescription and I'll find the rehab. After a shortish delay which she spent scratching her butt, she appears with a generic prescription, for outpatient rehab. No, I say, I am supposed to have home care. Well, she wouldn't know how to do that. The mean hospital gremlins don't want anyone to leave New Jersey, so they have deprived this poor soul of Internet access. Al Gore, where are you now that I need you to access your Internet?

She implies that she will have to work a long, long time--a lo-o-o-ng l-o-n-g time, for her to arrange this. So we grab the presciption and escape. At least I didn't have to fill out a survey telling them how much I enjoyed my stay.

Ladies and gentlemen, I did not enjoy my stay. First there was the pain pill mess. One of the nurses mentioned that I could ask for pain medication soon. How soon? In 15 minutes I could ask for it. Why don't you just bring it every 4 hours? No, the patient has to ask. But if you ask before 4 hours have elapsed, you receive bubkes. Never mind--this is how we do this here.

Then there's my roomie and the eternal party she appeared to be giving. A varied cast of 10-12 people were sitting standing, draped over the furniture or the bed at all times. They brought in potato chips, candy, cookies, popcorn and flowers and sat eating them (Not the flowers.). They stuck their legs, arms, canes, coats and other belongings all over the place, generally right under my bad leg, while I was trying to learn how to use the walker. It was good practice for me in learning how to overcome obstacles. It builds character.

I finally demanded another room, so they moved me into one which was empty. Why wasn't I put into the empty room in the first place? Then she and I could both have had private rooms, and her guests would have had room to spread out? I'm sure sharing their space with me was trying for them. But no-one cared about their comfort. Callous of them.

In my new room, I listened to the silence for a while, then read 7 New Yorkers. I'm here to tell you that the New Yorker ain't what it used to be. The wit is just a tad too heavy-handed.

I'm back now and catching up with all my bloggers as well as my e-mail. No Nigerian left behind! If I hurry, I can get a really good buy on a penis extender, as well as a partial scholarship for the Professional Cashiers' School. And Macy's. They're having a one-day sale.


Johnny Virgil said...

Welcome back!

If that penis extender doesn't work out for you, let me know if you are selling it cheap.

Steve B said...

Don`t worry, hon. Pretty soon it`ll all be government health care and everything will be sooo much better. Really. I mean it. Stop laughing. Why are you laughing? You`ll pull your stitches out, stop that.

prairie biker said...

glad you're home. I hope you're feeling better.

miriam said...

It's so nice to hear from everyone!

SnoopyTheGoon said...

Hey, what is all that hype with the hospital? Come on, stop it right now. And forget the medics, they are no good to no one. Just get better!

Oh, and do not waste a dime on that extender - they are too soft ;-)

dick stanley said...

Hospitals are awful places. I suppose you've heard they are a prime place to die, usually from some untoward infection. You escaped with your life. Congratulations.

Anonymous said...

Well, mazel tov, Miriam. Your blog is one I've enjoyed checking every so often. Glad you're out of dock.

True, the New Yorker is nothing to read when you don't feel good. In its present incarnation it's a smug, dyspeptic, pandering lead weight. It's in one of the hospital waiting rooms that I haunt and I've learned to avoid it on overcast days.

Tatyana said...

Hey, what's that - I go out of the country and you check yourself into a hospital!

Glad we're both back now.

Hope you'll find an attentive phys. therapist. Get well soon, Miriam.