Yup! I recently enjoyed a lovely stay at a 5-star hospital. And here’s what it was like.
I had the best room on the floor. Far from the noise of the nurses’ station and set off so that the other patients couldn’t peer into my room when they walked around. I know this, because when I walked around, I could easily peer into theirs. Nevertheless, people still bothered me.
Hospital volunteer: “Harrumaharrumahoobaba?”
Annoyed JD: “Huh?“
Hospital volunteer: “Whurrrhummanummabooba?”
Annoyed JD: “Old man say WHAT?”
Hospital volunteer: “Would you like a newspaper?”
Oh. Geez. I felt like getting up and offering him my bed. This poor old guy needed it more than I did.
I do love a strawed drink (note pinky finger).
The nurses were awesome. Somehow I got on the subject of blogging (I SWEAR I didn’t bring it up) with the nurse who was inserting my IV, and she confessed to reading many blogs. “Have you heard of the Bloggess?” she asked. Damn it! I quickly gave her my card. “If you like the Bloggess, you might like my blog,” I suggested boldly AND SHE TOTALLY DID.
I didn’t feel much like reading. Luckily, I had HDTV! Unluckily, not much was on, so I watched the Olympics. When one of the nurses commented on the fact that the Olympics were on, I said, “Yeah. I don’t usually watch them, but . . .” And she finished, “But now you have to.” That kind of summed up a lot of things about the hospital.
I had a bad reaction to one of my medications and I ALMOST DIED. I may be exaggerating a bit. In truth, my heart rate and blood pressure plummeted to DANGEROUS lows (and I almost died). I was put on an IV and forbidden to walk. Even to the bathroom. You know what’s coming. Yes, the dreaded commode. I was like, Well, I’m just not going to go to the bathroom ever! But with 300 gallons of fluid pumping into my system, that proved a little difficult.
The commode is better than a bedpan sort of because you can at least pretend it’s a toilet, albeit a toilet IN THE MIDDLE OF YOUR ROOM. But at least with the bedpan, they take it away whereas the commode just sits there judgmentally.
Lookit how close it is to my BED!!!
Breaking the Law, Breaking the Law
Even after the commode was removed, I wasn’t s’posed to walk on my own. I was told to call a nurse whenever I had to use the facilities. Um, I am JD. I go to the bathroom alone or not at all. “Not at all” was not an option, so I sneakily unplugged the IV machine and dragged it behind me. Hee hee hee, I thought to myself, plugging it back into the wall. They’ll never know!
Well, they totally knew. At first I suspected motion sensors, but apparently the nurses can tell when you unplug your IV machine. Dang! But they were cool, as I was obviously better than the day before, when I was pretty much in a coma and almost died.
The damn IV beeped constantly for no reason. Look! I’m pointing at something.
JD Needs . . .
Dave rushed to the hospital after getting the call from my mom. He grabbed a few things he thought I might need: A picture of Gus and Pru, my pink bathrobe, and a cat-shaped pillow. Aw! He also brought a rather skimpy nightie, which . . . no. Later he would return, weighed down with the essentials: laptop, iPod, camera, books, magazines, the mattress from our bed, and Gus.
I got to spend Valentine’s Day in the hospital . . .
. . . and if you want proof of how awful I felt, I actually shared the candy with nurses and visitors instead of hiding it in my contraband drawer like the selfish pig I usually am.
I don’t know why exactly I was hoarding Jell-o and crackers.
The Syrup-Stained Gown
Ah, hospital food! It tasted fine, but everything I ordered smelled like a dirty sponge. Sorry, hospital! I did enjoy the fact that you could order whatever you wanted, just like room service. But please don’t call it blueberry compote when it’s really just blueberries.
The blueberry pancakes were pretty good, even though the room service lady ignored my plea for extra syrup and extra-EXTRA butter. Maybe because they know what happens when you eat pancakes in bed with one arm attached to an IV and a lot of hair in your face and a saggy gown. They do their best to make eating and drinking spill-proof, but my sheets were changed more than once that day, my friends.
They put a straw in everything.
WTF does this mean? Even my doctor didn’t know. It was on the side of the bed, next to the speaker. I’m gonna go with:
“If your lungs are filled with branches, lie on your stomach.”
In conclusion, a hospital stay can be quite a lot of fun. Just don’t wear a skimpy nightie. You’ll want to be adequately covered when that old man busts in on you using the commode.