I’d rather be working

Posted: 20 J0000006UTC 2011 in Hospital Stay EEG
Tags: , , , ,

I’m not a mouse, a monkey (though I love them), a tiger or a guinea pig. I’m a human, just like most everyone reading this. Sometimes, like today, I feel like a guinea pig. I’m the newest exciting case on the floor, or at least that’s what I gather when a dozen medical professionals continually enter the room to do a rather detailed examination on me. They’re excited, I’m tired.

I’d imagine this is how I entered the world, as brief descriptions have been told to me. I was born 25 years ago, when a viable baby was considered to be 3 lbs. I made the mark, even if it’s a D, because I entered the world at 3lbs, 5oz. I was expected to live, but how well was to be determined. In fact, the doctor came to tell my dad all of the things that could be wrong with having a baby born nearly three months early. My dad’s response?

Doctor talkstoomuch: Your baby may be developmentally delayed, and have a host of diseases. Your baby may be dying right now…

Dad: “Is there anything I can do about it?”

Doctor talkstoomuch: “No.” (shaking his head somberly)

Dad: “Then get back in there and do something rather than talking to me.”

For obvious reasons, namely being stuck under bright lights in a room far away from the conversation, I can’t recap the conversation word-for-word :0).

At the time of my premature birth a colleague of my dad’s had a premature delivery too. The difference? Her baby was a boy. Truth be known, girls develop earlier in the womb. My lungs developed enough to live disconnected from the internal being of my mother, his did not. Same hospital, similar premature circumstances. Yet, for him this meant death, for me it meant life.

What I can do is explain this interesting life I’ve been in for the past 25 years. At the moment, I’m in a large university hospital where everyone from new Residents to distinguished Attendings says and finds something different about me each time they walk into the room.

I even had the pleasure of meeting a fellow patient who was in this room prior to my admission. She walked in, spoke only Spanish, and in my hoarse voice told her I didn’t speak Spanish (in Spanish). You’d think I was in the psych ward or that she did not hear me, because next I know she’s opening my drawers. I found out minutes later that she was looking for her purse. A nurse told me this. The nurse also was surprised that she came in here.

Nurseman: “They didn’t bring your tray yet (two hours after lunch is served)?”

Me: “No. This lady came into my room speaking Spanish opening drawers.”

Nurseman: “She did (in between snickers)?… She shouldn’t have” (begins rummaging through my drawers though I told him only my belongings were in there).

Me: (in my brain) This dude has some explaining to do. My room is being video monitored 24/7 (seizure unit), how come no one saw her on the monitor?

Now that there’s a faculty meeting, maybe I’ll get a break from the Spanish Inquisitioners ( doctors, nurses, stray patient). I really would rather be working. At least then it’s kids asking the questions not wanna-be-know-it-alls, can-I-have-the-good-case people…

Advertisements
Comments
  1. Mr WordPress says:

    Hi, this is a comment.
    To delete a comment, just log in, and view the posts’ comments, there you will have the option to edit or delete them.

    Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s