By Staff
Be it every so humbling, there's no place like the hospital. The adventure continues.
The rolling bed sped through the double doors in the bowels of the Medical Kingdom.
The masked ones, not having a clue about my clown phobia, whisked me from the bed to the table.
Snap, snap, and I was strapped down, arms out to either side.
Above me appeared two eyes; from hidden lips, I was instructed to take two deep breaths into the mask.
Two breaths and I drifted into another world. I no longer worried about the Twilight Zone!
From some distant place I heard my name and then I felt ice chips. The Twilight Zone was over and I was back in the Medical Kingdom. I was parched. It was a taste of heaven.
One more spoonful of ice and the rolling bed took off again.
Around corners, through doors, into elevators, until my thrill ride stopped in a room on the eighth floor.
Once again I was hoisted from the Medical Kingdom's speeding conveyance unto a stationary bed.
Drip lines were untangled, a push button to release a pain reliever was placed in my hand and I was ready for more sleep.
There was no use for TV or reading - I still hadn't located my flight bag. And looking at the tangle of tubes, I knew I couldn't put on the SpongeBob pants.
As I became more lucid, I realized how helpless I was. I'm not used to being dependent. I couldn't even sit up without assistance.
And then the moment arrived - I had to use the bathroom. A nurse responded to the call button, asking what I needed. When I told her, she had that "do you REALLY have to go?" look on her face.
Untangle the tubes, swing my legs over the side of the bed, hoist me to a sitting position - I was finally on my feet.
Half way there the gown fell to the floor - believing I might be modest, the nurse scurried to pull up the gown without tangling it further in the drip lines.
I'm sure you now know more about my Medical Kingdom adventure than you really care to know, so I'll end the story here.
By the way, my flight bag was in my room closet all the time, waiting for me.
I put on (actually assisted) my SpongeBob SquarePants for my ride home.
Have I changed? Yes. It was a humbling experience to put myself into the care of others.
While my surgery was considered "major," it was not life- threatening. I thought about many friends who have endured far more pain than I, and endured without much complaint.
I'm also more aware of the virtues of patience, kindness, and cheerfulness. A smile, even one behind a green mask, is a wonderful sight.
Most of all, I have a new appreciation for the medical community.
As in any other community, it takes many different people with different skills and interests to make the community productive and effective.
There was no quarreling (that I heard) about incidentals, no arguments about what brand of bandages to use, no negative comments about administration, no concern about video cameras, lights or empty beds.
The Medical Kingdom community functioned as a whole to keep me as safe and comfortable as possible.
The tubes and IVs are gone; only a sling remains.
It's back to the front porch with greater empathy and appreciation for a significant part of our community.