Friday, July 20, 2012

Day 2/ Day 3

Locked Up Abroad

After my stay in Trump's ICU and Casino, I got moved to "White 6". For those of you unfamiliar with White 6, it is the Turkish Prison of hospital stays. Ok. Perhaps I exaggerate. A record heat wave was hitting the East Coast and everyone said, "You're so lucky to be going into the hospital." Yes, dear friends. Getting your face sawed apart is a great way to get free A/C. You know another way? Going to see Spiderman. As for White 6, it was stale and hot. I was miserable.

I was in a "semi-private" room. Ok. How is something halfway private? Is that like being a semi-virgin? I digress. I was hot, miserable, and my level of care changed dramatically. Why you ask? Why? Because of her... Josie.


A good nurse makes all the difference in recovery. So to all the good nurses, let me just say, "Holy crap. Thank you!" For every profession there has to be a couple stinkers – the Sharon Stones if you will. Many dedicated readers of this blog may already know about my arch rivals: Abraham Lincoln and dolphins. Let me add one more to the list... Josie. 

Josie is a nurse who is comedically crappy at her job. I'd ask her to adjust the heat and she's say, "Let me check." She'd dart out of the room and come back 30-minutes later. I'd ask about the temperature and she'd say, "Let me check". And out she'd hustle. Ok. So I'm complaining. Let me say in my defense, I was very nauseous and the heat made it way worse. Also, Josie did everything slowly – except leave. If I had a question, she'd leave in the middle before I was done. She drove me crazy. At one point, I had to pee. Picture this. The door to the hallway is wide open. I'm confined to my bed holding a portable "urinal." Well, don't actually picture me peeing. Sicko. Anyway, I asked her to pull the privacy curtain. So, she slowly walked over, carefully extended her hand and reached for it, grabbed on to the curtain, sluggishly took a few steps to draw it closed – then, ran out of the room leaving it still gaping open. In the sitcom (entitled "Josie!") my catch phrase is angrily yelling her name when she unknowingly does some hilarious bit like leaving me to try to pubicly pee in a container. Comedic gold! 


When you get moved from one bed to another there is this big blue, weird-strong-fabric thing under you that they attach to a hoist to swing you into your new bed. My next nurse, LouAnne, noticed that they had left it under me. "You must be dying of heat! That thing is so hot." She rolled me around and got it out from beneath me. Sweet Jesus. Contact with a top sheet! It was a new (cooler) world. She brought me ice and rags and was awesome. That reminds me, I hate Josie. LouAnne and Claribelle were super intuitive and knew just how to make me feel better. And in case I was unclear before, Josie did not. In case there is a review board reading this now, if you're bored... Heck, I don't know, I might go do a performance review of someone. But who? I don't know... Maybe Josie? Ok I perseverate. Sorry.


I was set for discharge on day 2, but my doctors gave me the choice to stay. Because I was still so dizzy and nauseous they thought  I should stay another night. Later that evening they had me up and walking to the bathroom. In the middle of the night, I staggered the halls holding on tight to the rail. (Picture Cindy McCain or any Kennedy).

In the morning, guess who my nurse was. Loretta Switt? Nurse Jackie? No, that lovable nut from the hit show, "Josie!" She asked me if I had called for a ride already. Um, seriously? Sure. I dialed the number and held up my dry erase board REEAAAALLLY close to the phone. (Remember, I can't talk.) And also, lovably about Josie, she pretended to understand me when I tried to say something. I'd mumble for new ice for my face pack and she'd say, "Yes it is," then run of of the room.

So, I write down a request for her to call the contact person listed IN MY CHART and she says she will. She comes back (much later) and says, "He'll be here at 10:50, can you be ready?" I look at the clock. It's 10:45. And I still have my IV port attached.


So, dizzy and frantic, I get up, dress, pack, and get in a wheelchair. I also have a ton of prescriptions to get, which Josie said she'd fax to the pharmacy in the hospital so I could get them before I leave. She tells me that I will be picked up out front. I ask, "Did you tell him we need to get my prescriptions here first?"

"You told me to fax them to the hospital pharmacy. So..." she responded in that adorable Josie way.


And off I went home...

1 comment:

  1. Hahaha I really hope I don't get a Josie after my surgery! I think one day you should definitely write this sitcom!!