Simple Observations-Hospitals

    My wife is an emergency room nurse at a local hospital, so I'm pretty familiar with how they work. Hospitals are like lawyers. We hope and pray we don't need them, we dread going to them, we know they're going to charge us a fortune, but sometimes we really need them to save us. Most of us don’t like going to hospitals, but we all know they have knowledgeable and skilled people who will most likely save us or someone in our family.

    I just need to know one thing. For the love of God, can't  they just cut down on the paperwork, and make it just a little easier to get in and out. How come they don't have a drive through like McDonald’s? You could pull up to a big sign with speakers, but instead of hamburger combos and McNuggets the sign would have illnesses on it. You then choose your illness, slip your insurance card into a reader, and pull up and get your prescription.  You might even say something like this
.
"Yes, I'll have the # 7 severe cold with a runny nose and a sore throat. Could you also super-size the medication, please?"

      I’ve been observing hospitals since I was seven years old, and was in one with my nine year old brother. We were both there to get our tonsils taken out. Chances are most of you who are older than forty remember getting your tonsils removed in a hospital. What was it with doctors and tonsils back then? Everyone had their tonsils removed. You'd walk into any doctor's office, they would look at you for five seconds, and they would say,

"Hmmmm......looks like those tonsils need to come out young man."

    What were they doing with all those tonsils? Did they have them hanging on walls like trophies? All I know is that in the hospital they told me that it wouldn't hurt, and that afterward, I could eat all the ice cream I wanted. Well it hurt like hell, and I was so messed up I didn't eat any ice cream. I remember spending the first night croaking like a frog, sipping water, and having a nurse wipe the drool off my mouth.

    To be fair, hospitals have changed a lot since I was a kid. They are now gigantic palaces of stone and glass with some of the most modern medical technology known to man. I know how skilled and dedicated my own wife is, so I know you get the best of care. That being said, could someone just take a gun, shoot me, and put me out of my misery. Do you know why? Because I just returned from a hospital where my wife spent the last two days undergoing a series of tests.

    Don't worry she's fine, but the doctors said we have to be careful with her levels of stress. Hey, how come everybody's looking at me? Okay, I admit that I sometimes increase my wife's stress levels just a little, tiny bit, but I'm a man. I can't help myself. My wife had an irregular heart beat and was complaining of chest pains, so I rushed her to the emergency room.

      How many of you have recently been to a hospital emergency room? For a minute I thought I was at the DMV or the United Nations during an epidemic of the bubonic plague. What language is that? Is that Swahili? I could recognize Spanish being spoken, but I could also hear something that sounded like Chinese or Korean. I think that big blond guy was speaking Norwegian or some other Scandinavian dialect. They all sound the same to me. "Jeg har hode for sår, og Jeg ikke gjør det stemning svært godt" or something like that.

    There was even some  guy with a big head and bulging eyes speaking what I swear had to be either Martian or Venusian. Every chair in the emergency room was filled with mothers with four or five kids with runny noses. Whole families were camped out with everything from broken arms to hedge trimmer accidents to back injuries. A few of the people looked like they were drunk or passed out. I even saw a homeless guy down at the end, gently snoring.

      Luckily, because of the seriousness of the situation, my wife was rushed in pretty quick. I did have to hand in my insurance card and then sign a stack of paperwork about two inches high. I signed my name at least fifty times wherever the nurse pointed. I was so worried about my wife that I didn't even bother to look at what I was signing. I'm not exactly sure, but I may have just signed over my house, agreed to a year of bed pan cleaning, and turned over my firstborn son.

    My wife was in the emergency room for exactly two hours, ten minutes and thirty eight seconds, which I heard may be a new world record. After reviewing all the charts, the Guinness Book of World Records is supposed to make a determination in the next week or two. While in The ER my wife received a battery of tests including an MRI, an EKG, and what they call a Cat Scan. It's a good thing too, because my cat, Fluffy has been missing for two days. Thank God the test ended up negative, but I still don't know where that darn cat is.

    My wife was next transferred up to a floor to spend the night for observation, and was scheduled for some more tests the following morning. When we got up to the floor I stopped in my tracks and stared with my mouth open. For a minute I thought we were at the Ritz Carlton. I almost expected some guy in a cool uniform and hat to come up to me and say in an awesome British accent,

"Sir, may I take your bags to your room?"

    We were led down the hall by a nurse to a private room with bath that overlooked a scenic view of a topiary garden with a fountain in the middle. What the heck? I guess hospitals, have changed in the fifteen years since I was last in one for the birth of my son. I remember sleeping for two days on a chair of death while three pregnant women, including my wife begged for painkillers. For two days I lived on coffee and snacks from vending machines, and gave myself sponge baths with paper towels in a public restroom. I know, I know. I shouldn't complain, because we all know that childbirth is extremely painful, and I had it easy compared to my wife. Just remember that I'm not only a man, but I'm also bothered by almost everything. So come on and give me a break.

    I need to know something. Are those devices in the patient’s rooms, beds, or are they inter-galactic spacecraft primed and ready to go into hyper-drive at any moment? I'm glad my wife knew what she was doing. The bed had so many knobs and buttons, that I stepped back and stood silently in the corner as she adjusted it. Behind her bed against the wall it looked like the bridge of the U.S.S. Enterprise on Star Trek. There were dozens of buttons and knobs, and even outlets to dispense oxygen. I was waiting for captain Kirk to show up and say,

"Sulu, what’s our heading?" Now that I think about it, there was a male nurse who did look like a Klingon.

    The nurse hooked my wife up to a complex diagnostic monitor which looked something like a television, but in place of a picture there were weird numbers, moving squiggly lines, and annoying beeping sounds. This insidious, and dare I say diabolical and evil device was used to monitor my wife's vital signs. It was also tied into a nursing station in the hall so the nurses could keep an eye on it. I was told the device is used to monitor blood pressure, heart rate, respiration rate, and oxygen levels in her blood stream.

      I call it evil for two reasons. The first is that if a tired, sleepy, clumsy and uncoordinated husband accidentally trips on the wires, nurses will rush into the room to revive the patient from what appears to be what's called in medical jargon, “flat lining.” All I can say is, "whoops, sorry." The second reason is it never stops beeping. All night long my wife gently snored, as I stared at the screen to make sure my wife was okay. Beep, beep, beep, beep……The monotonous tone continued as my eyes become bloodshot and tired from staring at the screen.

    Okay, let’s see if I can understand this thing. Heart rates okay, as well as blood pressure. Now, what about her breathing and her other vital signs......beep, beep, beep, beep, beeeeeeeep, beep..............................What the heck?

"Ahhhhhhhhhhh. Nurse, nurse, nurse, nurrrrrrsssssseeeee!“

"It's okay sir. Your wife just rolled over in her sleep and pulled one of the sensor wires out. Now try to get some rest." Beep, beep, beep, beep. Oh yeah, sure. Like that’s going to happen.

    I know what you're thinking. How could I have it so bad? My wife was the one in the hospital who needed to be taken care of. Yes that's true, but I don't think hospitals like husbands. My wife was in a big comfortable bed. Every few minutes a nurse would come in and check on her, fluff her pillows, get her ice water and extra blankets, and ask if there was anything else she needed. I was crumpled up in a corner on what looked and felt like an old electric chair that had been reupholstered. I lay for most of the night, huddling under a towel from the bathroom to keep warm as I lay under an arctic-like blast of cold air from a vent in the ceiling. I wasn't even allowed to use the bathroom. I had to walk about a half a mile to a public restroom, and you know how much they bother me. Oh yeah, don't forget the beep, beep, beep, beep of that diabolical monitor.

    In the morning a nurse brought my wife a menu, and told her to dial 55 to order breakfast. A menu? My wife called the number, and ordered a two-egg omelet with mushrooms, rye toast with jelly, orange juice, coffee, and Belgian waffles. I swear, I'm not making this up. Within twenty minutes her breakfast was delivered, and she began to wolf it down like she hadn't eaten in days. I on the other hand left to wander the halls aimlessly in search of sustenance.

      I will say one thing about modern hospitals. They have fantastic cafeterias. They even had what looked like master chefs in big white hats cooking gourmet meals. There were three problems though. There weren't any empty tables to sit down at, the doctors would butt in front of everybody in line, and I had to use a credit card. All the food is also served ala carte, which I think is French for, "We even charge you for butter packets." People wonder why I get bothered. Entree, $6.75, carton of milk $1.75, dinner roll $1.50, pudding $2.35. I was going to get coffee, but I figured the owner of Starbucks would personally serve it to me, and I'd exceed my credit limit.

      I have some questions about hospitals, and maybe you can answer them for me, because the doctors certainly won't. Not only do they seem preoccupied and distant, but they speak some kind of crazy, insane and extremely complicated medical language that Albert Einstein probably couldn't figure out.

    Whatever happened to the all-white, starched nurse’s dresses with white stockings, and those cool hats? All the nurses are now wearing pants and shirts in all kind of crazy patterns and colors. Why do they call  the dividers around a patient’s bed, privacy curtains? They always leave them open and you can see right through them anyway. Do you think the next time I'm in a hospital they'll let me bring in my recliner from home? What's with all the tests they do on people? I haven't seen so many tests since old Miss McGinty, my fifth grade teacher would hammer us with daily quizzes.

    Why do they still have hospital gowns with your butt hanging out? If I see one more old man shuffling down the hall in one, I'll be the one in a hospital bed. How come whenever you go to use an elevator, the door opens and it's full of hospital beds with people hooked to monitors? Why are all the nurses staring at me? Oh yeah. I guess I do kind of look like a homeless guy, and they're probably deciding whether to call security or not.

    The good news is that my wife is going to be all right. I think she even gained a pound or two on all that gourmet hospital food. The doctors told me that she needs to keep her stress levels down. They recommended that she take a vacation. Of course they want me to stay at home. As for me; well, my back is killing me, I lost three pounds, and I desperately need a shave and a shower. Here we go, home at last. Hey wait a minute. What is that for sale sign doing in my front yard? Adam, Addaaammmmm......... Now where could my son be? Just a second. I seem to have a message on my answering machine.

"You have one message....beep....This is Our Lady of Mercy Hospital. We are calling to inform you that your first shift as a bed pan cleaner in the ICU Unit starts this Friday at 7:00 a.m. sharp. Thank you, and have a nice day."