Ain't Nothin' Like the Real Thing: Hospitals

Monday, October 29, 2007

Hospital Holiday

Sure. I miss my Thursday Thirteen and then I missed the entire next weekend because I took a Hospital Holiday on Friday and Saturday.

As a rule, Hospital Holidays are awful. Food sucks, you can't get decent cable channels, no one lets you sleep and the beds are just forensic autopsy tables with a white sheet over them. Room service is atrocious and you have to sleep with strangers with only a thin sheet hanging between you and whatever bodily functions they need to discuss or operate.

The lady next to me moaned the entire time. She kept calling the hospital operator (not the nurse's station) to ask for a bedpan for her hotel room. Everyone from the hospital operator to the nurses thought she was a prank caller and no one answered her requests until she started screaming that she had an accident in the bed.

I have already put in special requests to those closest to me that if I ever get like that, they have my permission to drive me out into the country, kick me out of the car and leave me for dead.

All I wanted to do was have my tests, rest and go home. While I felt extremely sorry for her, I wanted her to remember that midnight is NIGHT and is the typical time for a trip to REM sleep, but she didn't quite understand that. Well, not until 5 am when she shut off the light, the TV and fell into a blissfully undisturbed sleep, while I was awakened by my doctors and the need to go have tests.

I wondered though, did she plan on living in the 1940's during her dementia and waiting for Errol Flynn to pick her up for their date at the Brown Derby? You know, my friends and I have PLANS for our dementia. This frightening incident awakened me to the fact that we need to be prepared for a Dementia Plan B, in case I can't remember who George Harrison is, Anne can't remember Sir Paul and Colleen can't recall who the hell that boy from Brooklyn was whom she thought was so HOT.

This is a sad state of affairs. I had been looking forward to my old age, sitting in the rocking chair, fully mentally immersed in the 1960's London music scene, with George driving us back to our house in Esher in the new mini. Now, I face the fact that I might be screaming for a nurse to deliver a bed pan to my hotel room and then rotating only these 2 thoughts: #1 -- I WANT TO GO HOME and #2 -- I DON'T WANT TO GO HOME.

And you are completely right. My roomie did nothing to help my panic/anxiety attack, chest pain and shortness of breath (my standard hospital ER diagnosis). However, the tests show that my heart is fine. My panic isn't so fine, but I'll keep working on it.

I will also contact Anne and Colleen. We must begin preparing Dementia Plan B. Perhaps I could convince Colleen that I could take the boy from Brooklyn.....

Wednesday, June 27, 2007

General Hospital

I actually haven't watched "General Hospital" since Dr. Noah Drake left and I'll explain why. It's really two reasons: #1 -- What for?; #2 -- I work there, figuratively speaking.

It seems the older I get, along with my friends and their loved ones, I'm seeing a wide variety of doctors, nurses, hospitals, hospital rooms, ER's and surgical waiting rooms both as a visitor and patient. Add this on top of being a hospital employee and I believe I have valuable insight that is my duty to relate.

Allow me to share Lara's Rules and Regulations of Doctor/Hospital Etiquette.

The number one rule: Doctors Lie. The word “Discomfort” in their language has a far different meaning than it does between normal human beings. You would assume that discomfort means, well, it’s gonna hurt a bit, but then it’ll be okay. Don’t assume. You know what it makes out of you and me. A doctor saying “discomfort” is like a volcanologist calling Mt. St. Helen’s “a little burp”. You’ve been warned.

The number two rule: Don’t be brave. You need pain medicine? Think you just MIGHT need pain medicine? Yell. Do not, under any circumstances, suck it up. Be a baby. This correlates proportionately to when you are in dire need of pain relief and near unconsciousness, they will tell YOU to suck it up, that you didn’t need it before and why don’t you just wait awhile? If you finally complain long and loud after suffering in silence, you will be considered a “difficult patient” and no nurse will answer your call button...ever.

The number three rule: At the very first glimpse of an opportunity to leave the confines of the hospital, do so ASAP. If the doc says in his singularly see-saw way (I’m thinking William Shatner here), “Well..., we could... keep you overnight...or send you home if you can...” just agree with him. Whatever bodily function he needs you to perform, do it and get out. Those places will kill you...physically and financially.

The number four rule: Pull out every piece of ammunition you’ve got to get them to be nice to you. From the Doctors on down to housekeeping. Tell them whatever they want to hear. Be nicer than the Dalai Lama. Be the life of the hospital party (your pain meds might help with this) and for heaven's sake, don't make waves. Because if you make waves and don't play ball, you will be labeled a “difficult patient” and we already went over where that will get you.

The number five rule: Just because people have initials after their names doesn’t necessarily mean they are smarter than you. MD, BSN, PhD, RT, APN. You know yourself better than anyone. You’ve lived with you for...well, years. So speak up and ask questions. Make sure if you are in for an appendectomy but it seems like they are prepping you for brain surgery, politely ask for a "time out". And if anyone comes at you with a large foreign object that hasn’t been preceded by an anesthesia consult, remember Rule #2.

Finally, throw your dignity out the window but keep your sense of humor intact. After all, anything you've got, they've already seen.