Most of you are going to end up in hospital (Club Med, as a friend calls it, so I snitched it off her) at one time or another, if you haven’t already. It is one of those statistically probable things.., so you might as well make the best of it. Also, not all hospital experiences are gloomy. There are always a few funny bits 🙂
Having graced the hallowed halls of Club Med twice in the past couple of weeks, I feel eminently qualified to advise you on what to expect and how to make your sojourn as stress-free as possible. I base the following advice garnered from my particular experiences.
- Choice of Specialist or Surgeon.
If your regular GP decides to send you to a specialist, due to some medical diagnosis (or because he needs a bit of peace and quiet ;)), the choice of specialist is very important. Unlike your regular GP, who knows all your warts and ugly bits and with whom you feel comfortable, a new doc is a bit anxiety-making – especially if the new doc is going to be poking around in yer intimate bits wot have never seen the light of day before. Selecting the right doc takes careful consideration. If you are a filly, like me, then you have get your GP to pick a doc who is cute, tall, hunky and, who, most importantly, has a sense of humour! These traits are essential! Also, there is nothing worse than a doc without a sense of humour- such pathetic individuals should immediately make a career change and become auditors, actuary professionals or mortuary attendants!
- Your First Appointment.
Before attending your first appointment, wash your bloody feet and get them deodorised. I cannot stress this enough, because it is one of Murphy’s Laws that you are going to get an appointment late in the afternoon. This is after a hard day’s yakka at work and your feet pong like gorgonzola cheese what has gone bad. Add to this your new doc is going to be looking at yer lady’s bits and this involves shoving yer legs up in the air in a distinctly unladylike pose, with his head between yer feet. You are going to be absolutely cringing inside and this has nothing to do with the nasty probe which will be shoved up yer innards. You are cringing cuz you know yer feet stink and neither the doc nor his nurses are wearing masks. You now also realise that you might have made a slight miscalculation. In specifying a tall doc you might have overstressed the TALL requirement. That is when you realise the trolley thing you are stuck in is racked up close to the top of the ceiling to accommodate his height. Heck, he ain’t just tall – somewhere along the way he forgot to stop growing!
After having had bits chomped out of your anatomy, the nice nurses ask if you are feeling OK and not sick or faint. You assure them you are OK, but that you are afraid of heights. They panic and start un-racking the trolley gadget. You explain that you were exaggerating, slightly.
Your first mission after the appointment is to hasten forthwith to a pharmacy to purchase some foot deodorant 😉
- Your First Club Med Sojourn
For some, probably sadistic, reason, patients are requested to front up to Admissions at the decidedly ungodly hour of 6.30am. This is cruel in the dead of winter! It is even crueller if you do not have your surgery till late afternoon of that day, when you have been fasting since the night before and not even a drop of water has passed your parched lips. This time you are lucky and get to go first. A nice man takes you upstairs to your cubicle where you will spend the day when you are not being operated on. In fact all the staff members at this particular hospital are kind, helpful and very friendly? Where do they find them all? What happened to all the Nurse Ratcheds?
You get to change into a hospital gown (boring white) and a hospital cap (boring white) and these weird stretch knickers wot look like surplus nuns’ undies (also boring white). Obviously the hospital does not approve of modern ladies’ undies such as bikini knickers. It is a Roman Catholic hospital, so I guess that makes sense. And at least yer bloody feet don’t stink. You made sure of that!
You make yourself comfortable and turn on the TV (all the cubicles have their own TVs) and watch the Morning Show. It is so long since you have watched commercial TV stations, that you are quite stunned by how dumbed down the content is. If this content is a reflection of the nations’ mean IQ, the country is in serious trouble! Oops – digressing here. You receive a procession of medical visitors. Each one of them ask for your name and date of birth. After the zillionth uttering of this information, you wish you had it recorded so that you could play it for them each time, instead.
Your next visitor is a very nice piece of eye candy. Another hunky feller. Things are decidedly looking up. He comes in, introduces himself as your anaesthetist and promptly greets you by someone else’s name. You explain that you are not X and he says he got mixed up because X is right next door. You tell him that it is prolly a good thing that he is not removing one of your kidneys. This is a snide reference to a medical malpractice thingy in the news, against a doc who, amongst other bad thingies, removed the wrong kidney of a patient. Thankfully, he has a sense of humour and is not offended.
The last visitor before you get wheeled off to never-never land squeezes your foot to get your attention. It is your nice new doc. Thank goodness you deodorised yer feet!
A wards man comes in to wheel you away. Before so doing, he ratchets your trolley up to the ceiling. You instinctively duck your head down, even though the ceilings are super high. From these lofty heights you look down upon the tops of the heads of the lowly populace you pass as you are wheeled past.
You are wheeled into a room full of other patients. It is called the Holding Bay, but it more accurately resembles the OK Corral or the holding yard at the local abattoir. As you are up higher than anyone else you get a good view of the other victims. There is the cute kid across from you who is chatting cheerfully to his Dad, who is dressed in scrubs. Obviously Dad is going to stay with him in the theatre. There is a baby next you with his Mum. The baby is decidedly unimpressed with events as he is complaining vociferously. His Mum is bearing up well, though. One thing though, instead of boring white caps, the kids get coloured ones! Now that is just plain discriminatory and unfair!
A male nurse comes to wheel you into theatre. Another piece of eye candy. They certainly accede to a filly’s wishes at this hospital! The operating table thingy is the exact same height as your trolley. How do they get it so exact? You drag yourself across onto the table thingy, trying to not accidentally expose yer nether regions and those ghastly nuns’ knickers.
You look up the ceiling, which is awfully close and you realise that you are in the laps of the gods, figuratively and literally. Someone shoves a cannula into your left paw and the cute anaesthetist asks you to count or summat as you slowly drift off. Just before you do, you have an idle thought – everyone else in there besides your doc is of normal height. How to they manage to get their noses above the operating table? Ah – they must have special hospital grade step ladders…
You wake up in another room. Something beeps next to your ear. A nurse comes running over in a panic and tells you to breathe. You have been breathing so have no idea why she is telling you to. The bloody thing beeps a lot. You breathe hard each time to shut it up. It is very boring in this room and you are glad when someone comes to rescue you by wheeling you back to your cubicle. At least you will not have to put up with the bloody beeping thingy!
WRONG!! You are attached to another beeping thingy and this one is more neurotic than the other one. You are told to breathe more. You breathe so much you bloody well just about hyperventilate! The thing is so annoying you keep yelling at it to shut up. It ignores you, but yelling at it makes you feel better.
Eventually you are given sustenance. You drink the sweetest water you have ever drunk and the best sandwiches you have ever eaten. However, on first bite of the sandwich, the bloody thing beeps! You explain to it that it is impossible to breathe and swallow at the same time – well, it is not impossible, but to so do would cause it to beep continuously. The bloody thing ignores your reasoned explanation.
The nurse takes pity on you and turns the bloody thing off. Now you can relax and watch TV till they let you out of here – and happily vent your spleen at the moronic nature of commercial TV, which is obviously catering to the moronic masses.
You have made it through your first surgery and your feet still don’t stink 🙂
[To be continued]
|“The one constant in life is absurdity” – Woofie – 30/4/02|
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