This Much Fun Should Be Illegal

Before I continue with this post, it should be noted that I was highly gassed for much of yesterday, which may or may not explain this next statement. And here goes: the hospital is so much fun, I would pay to go there, just like Disneyland. Oh wait, I do pay to go there. Through the teeth I pay, but I guess that’s just like Disneyland too. There are actually a lot of similarities.

The hospital has a little of everything. Rides (wheel chairs and beds), food (or a reasonable facsimile thereof) and lots of waiting. Imagine getting to the hospital at 5am only to be told the admitting office doesn’t open until 5:30am and that you won’t even be prepped for your procedure until 7:30am. Yep, if you are thinking that’s just ‘like a ride queue at Disneyland, you would be right sir. My favorite ride yesterday was Nurse Who I Couldn’t Understand’s Wild Bed Push.’ Not to throw around NASCAR terms, but I think my bed was a little on the tight side because it kept pushing coming out of the turns. This led to not one, not two, but three collisions with other patients’ beds. Fortunately two of the three were so heavily sedated they slept right through it, but I feel for the one we hit that wasn’t. It is not a pretty sight to see a post-op elderly woman jolted awake by her bed being hit. At least she was in the right place should cardiac resuscitation have been necessary. It probably didn’t help that I was laughing as we rolled through the halls. Though in my defense I was sedated and loopy too.

I probably don’t need to say this, but after the infamous emergency room nipple-shaving incident of December 2004, I’m a little leery when nurses approach me with sharp objects. I guess you could say I get a little ‘edgy’ about it? (The fun may be gone, but the pun is here to stay). Yesterday was no different. The nurse told me she was going to shave me and then her BIC razor wannabe started buzzing. This made me even more tense. I thought I was remaining cool and calm as the she prepared to shave me, but I forgot that I was hooked up to monitors that reveal everything going on with me short of hiccupping, so everyone knew I was having major razor-induced anxiety. I had visions going through my head of my skin getting snagged and chewed up by this nurse’s automatic razor, but fortunately my nipples remain unscathed. And I can now cross that phrase off the lists of things I never thought I’d get to say…

The worst part about the shave thing is that just like any thorough, caring and dedicated professional, the hospital only does what it needs to. This means that since my cardioversion patch had to be placed on the left side of my chest, that’s the only side they shaved. Now, one side of my chest looks like a European Olympic swimmer’s (or a 4-year-old’s) chest, which comparatively makes my untouched right side look like Sean Connery’s or Austin Power’s’ss’s’s’. (I guess that last part would translate better in a podcast as opposed to writing. Just picture me saying Powers’s’s’s’s’s in a Dr. Evil voice with the whole dainty teacup-holding pinky finger next to my mouth). And it gets better. Since I had to be shocked 3 times (that third one REALLY IS a charm), my skin is burned from the adhesive medical sticky and electricity transmitting pads placed on my chest and back. So, now not only is half of my chest freshly shaven, but I have a large egg-shaped burn line that makes it appear as though the world’s largest big-mouth bass gave me a hickey. Oh boy, now I get to cross that phrase off of my things I never thought I’d get to say list. Wow, two in one day. I’d better slow down. I’m supposed to take it easy for a few days.

Sadly, my cardiologist, who I adore, has given me a new nickname: The Horse. Let’s just say that I have never reacted well to anesthesia and this time was no different. For whatever reason, from the moment I went under, through the shocky shocky and until I woke up, I was lifting and then slamming my left foot down on my bed. I was informed that right after the procedure my doctor asked if I was having a seizure. Hey, procedure and seizure! That rhymes in a lovely Suessian way. But it makes me wonder if everyone just left me laying in the corner as the freak who likes to bang his legs in his sleep and whenever another hospital employee asks about it, the nurses just replied with ‘just ignore him, he’s been doing that for 20 minutes.’ Perhaps that’s why everyone was staring at me when I finally woke up, which I have to admit was a pretty freaky moment. The recovery ward I was placed in was full of old folks who had just had cataract surgeries, so all I saw was at bunch of people with one eye looking in my direction. When you wake up and are pretty groggy, that’s not a welcoming sight. It was like I was in the twilight zone and I was the freak because I was the only one with two eyes.

So, I can now add counting with my foot like a horse to the list of my reactions to anesthesia, which already includes asking out doctors and nurses, offering to buy a meat dinner for my doctor even though the meat is considered sacred to that doctor, singing disco tunes and offering to buy a round of drinks for everyone in the room. I have never been drunk, but can’t help thinking that I’d make a fun one. Kinda like Otis on The Andy Griffith Show. I also bit my toungue during the lurch after being shocked, so I now speak with a lisp. It’s a pretty good chunk off the side of my tongue. As long as I don’t eat salt, I shouldn’t hurt too much more than it already does. The tongue must be really important, not like the appendix or metatarsal bone (I’ll admit I have no idea where that bone is, but saying it instantly makes you appear smarter. Seriously, try it) because it sure is hard to talk with a little piece of it missing.

But in the end, I really can’t complain. My heart rhythm is back to the normal and boring beat, beat, beat which means that although it’s no longer playing The Hustle, it’s working correctly. And as if it couldn’t get any better and I couldn’t ask for more from life, I got a call from Lucy and Ethel last night who are vacation along the Central California coast with my parents. I guess they found a farm nearby that they have been visiting every day because (and make sure you are sitting down when you read this) Lucy and Ethel can feed the COWS there. Yep, my daughters, the lights of my life, are directly contributing to the process of making cheese. In fact, they are assisting with the first phase in the long series of phases necessary to making cheese. And yes, it made me cry, but just a little. It’s cheesy, I know.

That’s really all I can remember from my Hospital Land adventure so I’ll wrap this post up. Though from what I am hearing, there apparently is a pretty good chance that I may have signed my house over to the anesthesiologist because I was so pleased with his efforts. Let’s just hope I didn’t sign anything to make it official. I promise I’ll be back to the regular blogging subject faire tomorrow, assuming of course I have a home and computer from which to write it…