Thurs. Afternoon (cue that Law and Order ding-ding)
I arrive at La Resorta de Enferma (years of Spanish classes at your service here) at around noon. My husband drops me off at Registration while he attempts to find a parking place. There is a short line. I notice an old lady with a walker. She tries to cut the line. Yeah, I don’t think so Grandma. I assert my place, and give her a look that says “I will trip you, lady.” She backs off.
Next it’s time for paperwork. Mostly it’s signatures on stuff I don’t read but I’m pretty sure it says something along the lines of “patient will not sue if maimed or killed in our care”. They make sure I have a driver’s license and insurance card, and make copies. I guess this is in case I flee to Mexico without paying. Then I get the royal treatment – a wheelchair ride into the elevator and up to my floor. No one wants to ride with us for some reason, so the elevator is all mine. Wheee.
There are tiny accommodations, but I don’t have to share, so I’m happy. They give me my uniform that snaps on the sides and opens in the back. At one time this might have embarrassed me, but I’ve given birth twice now. There are few people that haven’t seen me, you know, “there”, so I don’t care. I get more paperwork! They ask if I want to fill out a living will. You know. Just because. No real reason.
I am hooked up to an I.V. by a nurse who does not use the vein I’m complimented on so often, but another further down the arm that apparently takes some digging around to get just right. They put a bag of fluid into the I.V. This insures that the patient will have to go to the bathroom every half hour, yet be unable to do so, because she is chained to an I.V. pole. I’m not sure if there’s a purpose to it. I think the doctors just do it because it’s kind of funny to pretend they don’t hear you when you push the nurse’s button needing to go potty. I swear they hung up on me a couple of times.
Well, at least the IV will mean they won’t have to keep sticking me. Oh, but wait. Yes they will. You see, they only use the IV to stick stuff in you, not to take it out. And they must take your blood out at certain times, like midnight when you’ve finally fallen asleep, and then they must take out so much that even the nurse comments that she has no idea why they want so much. I think they’re conducting Nazi experiments, but I could be wrong. Should you see a familiar looking Alice clone walking around sometime, you will know what happened.
But La Resorta has some advantages. There is a bed that adjusts up and down. Sometimes all by itself. At first I thought the bed was possessed, but the nurse informed me that it’s a smart bed, which should be a warning right there. The bed is designed to adjust by itself to keep you from getting bed sores, but mostly it just annoys the patients. Nice to know.
There is also room service. I am not on restricted diet, so I order something that claims to be a chicken pot pie, but it is no Stouffers, let me tell you. The cake is excellent, though. They also bring me drinks when I ask, and all my meds, right to my bed. This is much better service than I find at home. Home service mostly consists of getting dumped in the back bedroom and totally forgotten about. This might be partly my annoyed perception of events. I am a good caretaker, and I expect the same, like a little bell I can ring for service. Or a button to push. One where the people on the other end, I repeat, do not hang up on you. (Yes La Resorta nurses, I am looking at you.)
Finally, there is entertainment. There’s a large T.V. in the corner of the room, and an actual real remote, which is a real improvement over the remote at the last hospital I visited years before. That one only went up or down through about sixty channels, several of which were either Spanish, religious, or religious Spanish. Or sports.
Shockingly, there is still nothing on T.V. TLC has decided to air a marathon of “Say Yes To the Dress”, except no, it’s not a marathon, there are just half a dozen shows on this station about weddings. Why. Just why? On “Say Yes to the Dress” the tension hinges on whether the bride will select this dress or that dress. Or possibly another dress. All costing more than my first house. But that’s okay, because you get so much wear out of these kinds of dresses.
There’s another show where women visit each others’ weddings and rate which one is the best. And they act like catty jerks while doing their evaluations, because as you know everyone’s wedding sucks but yours. They get annoyed that a Catholic wedding ceremony is like, so long, and that priest guy was totally dressed femmy and all. Also, the enormous ballroom is bo-ring, and the silverware totally doesn’t match the flowers, or something else stupid. I hate this show worse than the one where people catcall the girl trying on dresses with such endearments as “That makes you look like a tramp!” And that one was from Grandma.
My parents are in Vegas at this time. Yeah, I know, my parents have way more fun than I do. Anyway, my dh has to leave to take care of children because apparently someone is supposed to be with them and I am left by myself at the hospital. Because I am big and strong I start getting a little scared and weepy and the nurses figure out there’s nothing physically wrong with me (besides the obvious Pneumonia crap) so they ease on out of there. Only the janitor stops picking up trash to hug and bless me. That was weird, but nice. So thank you janitor lady, wherever you are
Stay tuned for Part Two . . . it’s more exciting than TLC