Hospitals

Sorry, dear and faithful readers, to have been absent so long. During the past week or so I have also neglected laundry, dishes, sweeping, and even advanced personal hygiene. You can see that at least you were not alone. The reason for this absence (though in future I don't always promise to have a reason, just so we're clear) is that a beloved friend of mine has been in the hospital. Though I've had opportunities this past few days to write meaningful, thought-provoking, poignant, or even downright deep blogs, this is the first chance I've had to come up for air and take a deep belly full of humor. Thought I'd share it with you.

I know that the easy path here (which is ALWAYS good for a laugh) is to make fun of hospital food. Of course, I would never stoop to something so pedantic. Or, perhaps more accurately, since my friend hasn't been able to eat during the entirety of her stay, I couldn't even make comments about the food even if I wanted to. So, that topic is off the table. (Feel free, however, to think of all the previous funny jokes you've ever heard about hospital food if you want - to sort of prime the pump, if you will.You may even attribute them to me in your head, but only if they're truly amusing and wouldn't make me blush.) The good new is, the food is far from the only funny thing about hospitals, so the blog might be redeemable after all.

One thing that gets to me is the amount of legal documents you really should have in place when you're in the hospital. You know - 'just in case.' A will, a living will, decisions about executors, power of attorney - the list goes on and on. Forget about all these - even the DNR order. If I have to go to the hospital, the only document I want is a DND - a Do Not Disturb sign. How on earth is anyone supposed to heal if they can't even get a decent nap? (You all know how strongly I feel about napping...)

All night long we had people in and out at intervals ranging from 5 to 30 minutes. If the distractions were evenly timed it would have at least helped create a sleeping rhythm - you know, snore, blood pressure. Snore, air in line. Snore, check your oxygen, etc... But. the pure randomness of both the timing and the procedures leaves one presenting arms, pulling on tubes, and indiscriminately saying things like, "no gas yet" all night long. Plus, just to keep you off guard, they'll send in 3 people in a row within ten minutes, but then wait 45 minutes to respond to the call button - leaving you hanging over the edge of the bed extravagantly leaking some foul fluid or futilely tugging on a gown to try to make it cover both your dignity and your behind.

Then, of course, there is the fact that it's not just the same person interrupting you, but a whole slew of folks. I am beginning to think that they bring people in off the streets, give them a white coat, and offer to let them have a stab (sometimes literally) at their favorite area of medicine - or their favorite area of anatomy. Either one will do. It's nearly impossible to keep track of everyone, and the problem is only exacerbated by the fact that they all trickle in, one group after another, all day. Listen people - if a bunch of women going out on the town for the night can get it together enough to know exactly when to go to the bathroom at the same time in a tidy and well-timed group, why can't residents, pain management people, nurses, technicians, etc... do the same? Perhaps that's the answer - only  allow women in health care, and then tell them their rounds are really a potty break. That way, they're bound to both stick together AND be expedient.

So, you spend all the time you should be sleeping being jabbed and dabbed, prodded at and nodded at, and all the time you should be awake trying to get cell phone reception. Why, in the one place in the world that you really need your cell phone to work, do you find yourself unable to use it without standing on your head or holding statue-still in order to not lose your signal? I've actually come to the conclusion that the only places you can get reception are right next to the signs prohibiting you from using your cell phone. These, of course, are everywhere. There are enough police officers and hospital guards that I don't really want to be caught using my phone while leaning on one of these signs, but it's tempting nonetheless. The only way that I have found to reliably be able to make or receive calls is to lean my head and phone against a window. I must look either depressed or frustrated to the 3,478 onlookers who make their way into the room. Either way, I caught signt of my reflection and noticed that this posture gives the impression that I am relaying secret information that I am trying to conceal, but I'm not very good at it. This is akin to how my three year old will shut herself in the room, then peek her head out and say, "Don't come in here." Somehow the delivery style just isn't meshing with the intent.

Jeesh - hospitals. We put up with beds that can practically get you to the moon, but a guest chair that won't lock to save your life, leaving you careening into the hallway each time you try to lean back. The only source of entertainment when the patient is sleeping is the TV, which always turns on at a volume that would rival most theater sounds systems. They're always too hot, too cold, too noisy, too quiet, too stuffy, too breezy, and ALWAYS too expensive. But, I can tell you this - when we walk out of here, there will be one thing that I will forever feel toward this hospital - gratitude. It's easy enough to dish out insults, but when push comes to shove, I'm grateful for the interruptions. It means there are capable, talented people who are willing and able to come to our aid. I'm grateful for the fact that they will miss out on sleep and not see their friends and families so that I can have more time with mine. I'm grateful for the fact that I have slept in the chair, learned to unhook hoses, pushed the IV cart. It means I've been in the valley of the shadow of death with a loved one, and know more assuredly than ever that I will fear no evil.

Of course, I might still fear eating hospital food, but I guess I promised not to go there, didn't I?