My husband’s medical care is through the Veterans Administration. Today was my first time accompanying him. [Oh, we learned his Crohn’s flare-up is very severe.]
Regarding the VA, I must say—Hubby wasn’t kidding: the staff there is efficient and friendly—and so were most of the patients we encountered. Some of those nurses waited for years to get on at the VA; they love working with Vets: for the most part veterans are not whiners, and they treat the staff with respect. The older nurses spent most of their careers helping World War II Veterans; now the majority is from the Viet Nam era, but they see Vets who served in Korea, the Middle East, and everywhere in-between.
Today I waited a few hours in a waiting room. People actually talked amongst each other! Others didn’t care that we could hear their conversations (hearing loss, probably); it was clear many patients at the VA are politically minded. One guy was parroting things he’d seen on TV last night. Another was concerned about impending socialism. Another, clearly a middle-aged hippy, was pointing at the poster of the new, clean-cut hospital administrator, who was no-doubt a “darn right-winger.”
I elected to remain neutral (just for today). I’d brought a tote bag with things to do. I was cutting and sorting, which intrigued some; we joked how rare it is, in this computer age, to see somebody actually working with scissors and paper clips. As the number in the waiting room dwindled, I shifted to just reading. When the nurse brought my Hubby back to me, I looked up and found I was the last man standing.
I drove home my groggy boy. The procedure triggered pain (poor guy), so he rested this afternoon while I caught up on work.
We have an understanding that I don’t take cooking requests (he’s a former professional cook and wants to back-seat drive)—but he’d emailed me the other day about the meal he was dreaming about during this fasting phase. Dang straight, that’s what we’re having.