I’m not going to the hospital. People die there. ~ Uncle Bob Honeycutt
Note: Uncle Bob died years ago. I’m pretty sure he was in a hospital at the time.
- You can go into a hospital with no known allergies, but come out with an allergy diagnosis (latex), which the hospital staff aggravated and exacerbated with their machinations and manipulations. Now I’m taking an allergy pill a day in an effort to get rid of the itching and angry red hives. It’s improving .
- Only in a hospital (or maybe a court of law) would you tell the what-happened story so many times that you start to think it’s some kind of trick question, and if you don’t get it right they might throw you in jail. (The actual doctor assigned to me was #8, and yes, I
was counting! How else was I to stay sane?) - I couldn’t help noticing that the hospital is a huge distributor of styrofoam cups and water pitchers. Have they not heard how environmentally unsound that practice is, and how bad it can be for our health? Read about it here.
- Apparently NO ONE in coronary care (Don’t worry, my heart is terrific.) can have salt. They brought me vegetable and barley soup. It looked wonderful. I tasted. Ugh. Mrs. Dash and pepper cannot
cover for the absence of salt. Understand, I’m a very minimal partaker of salt, but if I ever go to the hospital again I will take some with me. I mean it! Though I have no plans to go back. I am hereby giving my family and neighbors permission to call an ambulance if I’m unconscious. Otherwise, I’m sticking with Uncle Bob’s take on hospitals.
I guess a little explanation is in order. I’ll keep it short. On Sunday morning, I was ready for church when I had some sudden, unexplainable pains which could have been heart-related. I decided to play it safe and had my daughter drive me to the ER. They, also playing it safe, kept me over night. On Monday morning I had a stress test and aced it. All that walking for exercise is serving me well. 🙂
I learned some things about hospitals and myself. The statements above are a small sampling of things I could tell you about my short stay in the care of my hospitalist and her fine staff. They were kind and caring–every one of them. And I’m sure they were glad to see me go. I learned that I am not a patient patient. I asked about a thousand questions. Why do I need a shot in my stomach? What is it? I don’t need a blood-thinner. I won’t get a blood clot because I’m not lying in bed, I’m getting up and walking in place every thirty minutes. Do you offer ear protection? (They did.) I’ll never go to sleep with those monitors in constant beep-mode. I did my stress test at 8:00 this morning. It’s four o’clock, when can I expect the results? I don’t intend to spend another night here. As I was leaving I could just imagine what they were thinking: “Thank God the Q&A bitch is finally gone.”
Here’s the deal as I see it. Sometimes it’s good to be alone. There’s much to like about it. BUT–I believe that a patient needs an advocate. I had to be my advocate. That’s scary. This trip I was lucid and able to advocate for myself. There were times when I wished I had been more tactful and less adversarial. As I said above, they were kind people. But I needed my questions and concerns addressed, so I’m not sorry I took the time to ask. This experience taught me that sometimes it’s nice to have a spouse or life partner to lean on. Ah, but life goes on and mostly it’s good.
Note: I have not read the book pictured above. I might look it up.
Back On My Own 