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Jun. 5, 2007 My wife's liver duct was blocked and her bilirubin levels were
high causing jaundice, but on Sunday there were no available
anesthesiologists. So Saturday night we were forced to begin nervously
waiting for the two procedures: the one on Monday that would clear the stones,
and the one the day after that would remove her gall bladder. They gave my
wife hard drugs for pain and nausea, but I needed something for my
anxiety. A copy of hospital rules next to every bed stated no conjugal
visits, no lewd behavior, and no illicit drugs. I noticed it didn't say
anything about beer. Thirty minutes later, I was back in the room with a
forty ounce bottle of Budweiser.
The nurse discovered me drinking by my wife's
bedside. The nurse's a grandmother, an uptight and anal
proper Southern woman, obsessed with sticking to rules, and she's probably been
a witness in lawsuits against the hospital. I guessed her accent
originated somewhere in east Texas or Western Alabama--places where polite
society condemns drinking alcohol. She sent me out to the parking lot to
finish my drink because she was afraid I'd get so totaled I'd trip and fall and
the hospital would be liable.
I met a couple other fussy hospital employees in the
cafeteria. I grabbed a chicken sandwich off a tray--a horrendous faux
pas. I was supposed to wait until I was served. Another chubby black woman
just didn't want to serve me noodles with my Chinese pork roast. Though
the menu was ala` cart, she kept telling me the noodles didn't come with the
meat. Finally, she agreed to serve me the noodles when I assured her I
could afford the extra sixty-five cents. Surprisingly, the food was good,
better than most restaurants which isn't saying much considering American fast
food franchises. The cafeteria had solid Southern cooking--biscuits,
corn bread, grits, greens, banana pudding. I did find one raw pork link
sausage, and overall, they could stand to cut down on the sodium and
fat.
Monday brought fresh nurses--young good-looking blondes and
spunky brunettes. They didn't make me feel like I was constantly breaking
the rules.
The gastroenterologist looked like a young Mark Twain.
He drew a picture on the bulletin board describing exactly what he was going to
do, and he informed us of all the possible complications which upset my
wife. I tried to cheer her up with a joke.
"Look, he's drawing a picture of your guts," I
said.
A young nurse laughed; my wife didn't. The procedure was
a success, and the doctor mentioned stones the size of boulders. My wife's
pain was gone, and I was no longer nervous because there were no
complications. I'd feared a septic infection. Instead, momentum
seemed to be on her side. Still, my wife was emotional.
The general surgeon was a cute pregnant woman who looked
Jewish though her last name was a common Waspish one. She performed the
laparoscopic cholecystectomy. In this procedure the surgeon makes four
small incision in the belly, inserts fiber optics so she can see what she's
doing, pumps the belly full of carbon dioxide, and squeezes the gall bladder out
through tubes. She was successful though it left my wife looking like
someone had belted her belly with a baseball bat.
We were satisfied with the care we received at Doctor's
Hospital, and I even forgive the nurse who outlawed my beer-drinking and
bare-foot wandering. If you're sick in Augusta, choose that one because
not all hospitals are competent.
------------ About the author Mark Gelbart: My book, Talk Radio, is a black comedy about a radio talk show host who gets kidnapped and psychologically tortured by a loser. http://www.authorsden.com/marksgelbart Email: agelbart@aol.com Comment on this article here! ------------ All articles are EXCLUSIVE to Useless-Knowledge.com and are not allowed to be posted on other websites. ARTICLE THIEVES WILL BE PROSECUTED! |
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