Hospitals: ‘Can’t Live Without ‘Em

Wouldn’t it be amazing if the vascular surgeon actually completed Mom’s leg procedure a long while before emerging?  Because he knows full well that it takes adult siblings least two hours to wade through the small talk and cut to the chase.

Humor me, here:  I’m down with this idea; he’d be a “whole health” physician; while he glues Mom, her daughters are also bonding.  What better time than during a risky procedure on a woman pushing 80 than to get her offspring actually talking?

Ah, Meh. Insurance would never cover it.

The two retired school teachers at the front desk, Eleanor and Eleanor-Jean (for real), were fun: we talked about horses.  That was during the half hour I was waiting alone for no good reason.  (Note to self:  Next time, call the doctor’s office to see if Mom’s hearing aids did their job of collecting the details.)

Hospitals have self-flushing toilets.  Our first experience with those was when Mom was hospitalized years ago (for yet another consequence of smoking): the girls were young then; one of them really didn’t like those magic toilets.

Moving off that topic…  one of my sisters knew this cafeteria had great Reubens, but we didn’t go there:  Sib #3 was off the feed bag preparing for tomorrow’s special test.  (What the hey, her deductible’s met.)

This hospital complex is an intricate maze of hallways and lobbies.  Again, it’s that “whole health” thing:  visiting the sickly reminds you of your mortality, and getting to their room builds up your heart and lungs.  FTW!

Oh, by the way:  what is WITH that parking garage?  ‘Nuf said.  And who made the rule that when you need it most, you can’t use your cell phone?  I’m just sayin’.

But having spent several hours there today, I decided that a hospital is more than elevators and desks; it is the sum total of its components—not the least of which is a skinny southern guy that happens to know his way around an artery.  Now, THAT …is For the Win.


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