I had some
vague idea when I went to bed Sunday night of following up my epic Check in
blog with.... something. Possible even something more knee-slappier than the
boffo ending, I left you all with regarding my Runescape exchange with my
ultra-suave friend Bryan. I am having trouble remembering what it was now,
because I was getting a headache. I don't get many headaches, thank God, but
when I do, they tend to be strange and weird, and I get stranger and even more
psychotic than normal. I should have known this was going to be bizarre. I
stepped outside for a breath of fetid, dumpster air, and the putative Spike and
Angel were patrolling for vampires and demons out behind the La Ideal Meat
Market. I accepted this as perfectly normal. They must have had Protect-a-Wino
duty tonight.
Anyway, I was
feeling tired and stiff and went to bed. I woke up at 4 am with the absolute
worst nest pain on the left side of my neck, along with this really swell
headache. This is either the spinal meningitis or the brain tumor I fear has
lurked and eluded every MRI and voodoo spell for the last 50 years. Alarmed, I
proceeded to burrow back into the pillows and sleep until abou1 pm.
Of course,
it’s not one whit better when I wake up. So, I climb into some clothes,
deputize JC to watch the house, so it's not completely denuded by crack hos and
meth addicts, grab whackamole, glasses and crawl off to the bus stop. Only in
this case, being Nebraska, it's all about the presentation, so I pretend to
look like my head is not being riven in two by a wedge. Thank God, it's a short
walk and a short wait.
By the time I
get to TGH, I'm starting to get confused. I get off the bus and I have to get
across a cross walk and I'm having trouble seeing it. A police officer noticed
my difficulty and flagged down this doofy little card that runs around the
campus, hauling people to and fro. People were getting in his way in the
crosswalk, both pedestrians and some cars were just being impatient driving
around him, a Tampa Police Office. He was getting impatient; a white pick up
truck started to pass, but he looked at the woman's face and asked if she was
all right. I was trying to get in this little cart and I heard "he's
having chest pains." The officer instructed the woman to follow us. We
zipped around the rear of the hospital and up a hill. The triage people tried to
take me first. I said, "I'm doin' my own triage, get that guy there, ha
may be having a heart attack." The attendants ran off after the lady and
her husband. I got in the door and got in line. Typical TGH hurly burly. I
worked in a teaching hospital for 5 years. This is nothing new to me.
Okay, let the
festivities begin. Sign in, with a bunch of poorly scrawled information. God
bless the intake people. They must have crystal balls and some kind of thought-detection.
I can't even read my own runic output. Yet I'm always "Mary Wallace"
" Mvxs Tcpldee." I was "Mary TGH" for a while once, but
they could still find me. Now. the fun part. Find a chair in the waiting room.
I look around. Just about every chair is taking. It looks like the Ship of the
Damned. And nearly everyone has one of those charming Hospital Blankets. This
is where normal blankets go before they die. This is blanket Purgatory. If
you're a good blanket here, you may actually get out of here and go to blanket
Heaven. I haven't formulated that part of the Theology yet. If you fail here in
blanket Purgatory, you are made into those nasty little Hospital Socks. You
know, the kind with non-skid crosses, and tight-ass collars, or whatever the
hell those rings of death are called to keep them form slipping off your feet.
They also come in either the most eye-blindingly shades of color known to man
or the dreariest.
I have a
theory about this; the violent chartreuse, reds, purples, blues, yellows are
all given to the schizophrenic, bipolar mental patients. The dull, dull, dull,
blah, dreary, brown, green, gray, lilac shades are given to the depressed
people to ensure repeat business. The only thing that is even remotely “PC” are
the fuzzy pink ones given to the people who are having breast biopsies, and
those suckers could have been manolo blahniks and I wouldn't have noticed when
I had a biopsy there.
These blankets
however do not do one thing to keep anyone warm. When I was a patient here for
2 months, I weighed about 70 lbs at one point. I counted. I had 14 blankets.
The damned blankets had to weigh more than I did. They did not keep me warm
They would have made swell windows. These blankets have been washed and
bleached so many times they don't even feel like normal material anymore. I bet
if you stretched those bastards really tight you could file through metal.
Those damn things are rough. And everybody's wrapped up in them. The blanket
girl came around "Cigar? cigarette? Blanket o Death?" and asked me if
I wanted one. I told her to bring me some Saran Wrap. That'd be warmer. Geeze.
But, once
again, I'm off on a tear. This is a good place to stop, so I can launch into
tomorrow's tear, which is actually today now. Shit, Like I'm not confused enough.
2 comments:
I love ur writing style ♥
Awww, You're so sweet! I'm glad you enjoy my little tales. I have fun and it's great therapy recording my memories. Also, as I have no kiddoes, it's my legacy, perhaps. <3
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