So Ipstenit went in for a spot of same day surgery. That means she went in and had the laser zap that same day and went home that night. It also meant that I spent the day with her. Because that’s what girlfriends do.
We rolled in and 10 A.M. for noon surgery and the cutting wasn’t done till around two. Then there were the hours waiting for the stupid drugs to wear off enough for me to taxi her home. Which places me in pretty much six to eight hours of hospital hell. God bless my Palm Pilot.
For this week’s religious digression, I don’t believe in Hell, hell or any sort of that thing. Firstly, I’m Jewish and we don’t believe in Hell, the Devil or any sort of ‘God is out to get me BS.’ We just don’t. There is evil and I believe firmly in its existence. To not believe in evil is like saying you don’t believe in guns. Guns exist and you’re an idiot to say otherwise. I can prove guns exist and likewise evil, or ungood. Double plus ungood, even.
If there was a Hell, it would be in a hospital.
Here is my travelogue of Hell:
#1 The Television
I’ve spent my share of days plugged into the boob tube, and I’m well aware daytime TV is for crap. I don’t like soap- excuse me, daytime dramas. I don’t like court room thangs. I do, however, like the news. You’d think that with 99 channels, I could get news 24/7, but no. Not unless I want world news. Oddly, I want to know what’s happening around my area without having to spend 8 hours surfing the net. Oh, fuck off with your ‘Sacrilege!’ You know I’m right. That’s why you still watch the news too. That and the weather report.
#2 The Smell
I don’t mind the smell of clean. As much as my mother would bitch about my natural adherence to filth, it’s not true. Order is my natural state of being, and the astringent odor of antiseptic falls under the purview of clean. There’s something extra about the scent of a hospital that tweaks me. Everyone bitches about it, and for me it’s the problem that hospitals smell and feel dirty even with the stench of clean. Dichotomy. Ick.
#3 The People
I don’t like most people, even though may like me. Often I’m called an ice bitch for it. Oh well. I just hate having my personal life aired out like dirty laundry. Maybe if I was less boring … Still, at a hospital, you get to hear about everyone’s problems and they yours. This BS about doctor/patient confidentiality is a lie. Anyone listening in while you stand in the waiting room talking to your doctor about the surgery will hear it all. Yum.
#3 The Policies
Ipstenit: Why the fuck do they need you to wear a dippy gown for a foot operation?
Ipstenu: You mean you didn’t last time?
Ipstenit: No!
Ipstenu: Maybe it’s because last time they gave you a local and this is a knock you on your ass one.
Ipstenit: Well, okay. Easy access for heart attack problems. But why did they take my underwear?
Ipstenu: Your bra has an under-wire-
Ipstenit: Not that. My underwear.
Ipstenu: *snigger* You don’t have any panties on?
And then Ipstenit divorced me. I kid! Though if you’ve ever seen the York Peppermint Patties commercial with the old dude who says “When I bite into a York Peppermint Patty, I get a sensation I’m riding down … the luge!!” His voice is all screaming and high pitched. I love that commercial. Anyway, that’s totally how I said “I don’t have any underwear on!” to Mrs. Ips. Thank god she loves me.
#4 The Waiting
I imagine that waiting, alone, is the worst hell ever. Soaps you can mock, people ignore and policies are ripe for jokes. Unlike airports, the people watching at a hospital is filled with dread. Is that guy going to die? Is that woman going to boot her IV lunch all over the- floor. Yeah, she did. They hauled off the Mrs. around noon and I didn’t see her again until almost four. Four fucking hours where we were both alone and unhappy about it. That was worse than the uncomfortable seats and lack of decent eat. I think they turn down the heat in the waiting room to chase you out.
Oh and I got a nurse for the puking lady. Because I’m Saving The World Girl!
It all went well. The painkillers got royally fucked by Dr. Mary (not Dr. Foot whom we love), when she forgot to put the dosage on the scrip. Idiot. Took me half a day to straighten it out and brings to mind a rant about how easy it is to steal drugs.
But, as I often say, that’s for another blog.