HOSPITAL (Part 1)
THE CRYSTAL METHOD, FREEZING HOMOPHOBES, AND POOR NEIGHBORHOOD BOY
I am convinced that humor can be found everywhere, even amidst the direst of situations. One need only open their heart and mind to the joy humor has to offer at any given moment in order to witness this truth firsthand. You may ask what case in point I hold in my memory to make such a bold claim—what if I told you I was laughing my ass off in the Neurological ICU after having a 6-hour reconstructive surgery on my cervical spine. It’s true; I was laughing my ass off—but I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me start at the beginning:
On July 29, 2005, I awoke to the wretched smell of my cat’s breath as she lovingly licked my eyelids and forehead. This was her passive-aggressive way of letting me know it was time to get up and feed her. As I lifted my head off the pillow, I felt and heard a ‘pop’ by my left shoulder blade. Immediately thereafter, a sharp pain shot down my left arm. I waited in anticipation for my upper body to entirely kink up; it never did. I sat motionless, reflecting on how different this pain was compared to other pinched nerves I’ve had—and I’d had lots of them, especially since being hit by a car in 1997. What I found the most curious was the fact that my left side was in pain, and not my right side, which was normally the case.
Reaching for my phone, I pushed the cat off the bed and then speed-dialed my mom at work.
“Hello. Dr. McCurdles office, how may I help you?”
“Mom…it’s happened again…,” I whispered, afraid that applying any sort of volume to my voice would exacerbate the pain shooting down my arm.
“What happened again?”
“’Pinched nerve in my back.”
“Well, you know what to do. Just take your muscle relaxants.”
“No…mom…it’s different this time. My back isn’t kinked up. It’s strange. It’s totally different. I heard a ‘pop’, and now I have this shooting pain down my left arm—but nothing’s kinked up.”
“Well, what do you want me to do?” she inquired, sounding helpless.
“I don’t know.”
___________
I was a complete nut while awaiting my emergency cervical spine surgery. Martha, my Neurology/3rd floor roommate, was 83 years old. She’d suffered a mild stroke and was awaiting for the last of her test results in order to be released. I can guarantee that the three days she spent with me were the worst days of her life. I was flying on Hydromorphone, Percocet, and a slew of other meds that were either being pumped into my veins or shoved down my throat. This translated into me sweating my ass off—even when the air conditioner was cranked all of the way up—and me talking non-stop.
At first, Martha was very cordial and inviting. She seemed to enjoy my conversation. It wasn’t until after about three hours of making my acquaintance that she began to pull the curtain that separated our beds. I tried to maintain conversation—regardless of the curtain—by asking her what she was watching on the TV. She was watching the Tony Danza talk show. I turned on my TV and decided upon watching the Ellen Degeneres show. Martha asked what I was watching.
“I’m watching Ellen Degeneres. I love her sense of humor. Do you like her?” I asked.
“No. She’s a homosexual. I wouldn’t watch her if you paid me a million bucks.”
I was able to deduce from Martha’s simple reply that sharing information regarding my personal life would not be such a good idea.
Martha made it clear that she thought I was a very kind person, but made it even more clear that she didn’t want to listen to my Percocet-induced ramblings all day. As soon as I’d open the curtain to talk to her, she’d pull it shut once more. That was fine with me; my parents had brought in my portable CD player and a slue of extra batteries. For the next day and a half, my ears were bombarded with The Crystal Method’s incredible fusion of dance beats and everything that’s cool in rock; I couldn’t get enough of their electronic hypnosis. The driving beats relentlessly pounded in my head. I knew first-hand what it was like to listen to techno while tripping out on foreign substances. In my case, the drugs were legal, and, what’s more, they kept me from screaming in agony.
The pain shooting down my left arm was so severe, that even a shot of Hydromorphone every 6 minutes wasn’t enough to ease the pain. Not only were earphones continually plugged into my ears, but also I cannot seem to remember a time when I wasn’t clutching an ice pack to my left upper arm. I remember writhing in pain; moaning so much that Martha had to turn up her TV.
Given Martha’s age, it wasn’t surprising to me that she was always cold. Now, picture a nearly freezing to death 83 year old coupled with a 36 year old who was perpetually overheating due to meds. The air conditioner was the cause of great distress; I wanted it turned up to 10 and Martha wanted it thrown out the window. Martha was older than I was, and I respected that fact enough to let her think that she could keep the air conditioner set at the level she thought appropriate. She would always adjust the ‘Cool’ level on her way to the bathroom. As soon as I heard the bathroom door click shut, I would fly out of bed and run over to the air conditioner, once again turning it up full blast. The fact that my neurosurgeon said that a simple slip on the floor could mean permanent paralysis (due to the disc problems in my spine) meant nothing to me then; I was only living for the moment!
Martha’s kids would come to visit her and I would hear her explain to them that no matter how much she turned the AC down, it was always freezing in the room. Her daughter was kind enough to bring her a crocheted blanket from home, which eased my pain of having to run over to the AC while Martha was peeing.
____
The funny thing about my stay in the Neurology Department while awaiting my cervical spine surgery was that I didn’t realize how much I was talking incessantly. To me, everything was normal. It wasn’t until after my surgery that people came out of silence to come clean about how manic, crazy, and annoying I was while awaiting to have my neck reconstructed.
My Uncle Bulldog, who hates to talk on the phone, says that I had him on the phone for 45 minutes. I had the secretary of my school on the phone for a half hour just to tell her that I would not be able to start the new school year as planned. Apparently, I told her my entire prognosis, as well as my entire medical history. I couldn’t believe the questions I was fielding from my boss and co-workers after my surgery. How did you know that? I would ask, only to be told—‘O, you told us that when you told us you wouldn’t be able to return to work until January.’
O crap, I thought—I wonder what else I told them!
The funniest story anyone has yet to tell me about my behavior while pre-op in the hospital had to do with my sister-in-law, Colleen: I was very excited to see that she had come to visit me during my second day on the Neurology floor. I was stoked that she brought Liev (7) and Megs (9), my niece and nephew. Colleen had also brought a neighborhood boy she was babysitting. I don’t remember his name. My version of the story is as follows:
Colleen arrives with the kids. They get me out of bed, walk me to the family meeting-area room, and I sit with the kids while Colleen goes to the gift shop to get me some magazines and a chocolate bar. Colleen comes back with the goodies, walks me back to the room, and says that she has to leave because she has to get some school work done for her new kindergarten teaching position. I couldn’t believe it: I could die while getting my neck ripped open by the docs and she comes and visits me for 10 MINUTES?? Jeez. What nerve!.
Colleen’s version of the story, which I concede is most likely closer to the truth than mine, goes something like this:
Colleen arrived in my hospital room with the three kids. I became exceedingly excited to see them all. I jumped out of bed, took off my bathrobe, and turned around to untangle the IV tubes from the gown—whereupon ‘neighborhood boy’ got a free glimpse of my bare backside, leopard skin patterned underwear and all. Colleen said sweat was running down my face and my hair was soaking wet. I looked at her, said, ‘Man, I’m cold!’, then threw my bathrobe back on, and hopped back in bed. I recall all three kids standing at the foot of the bed, just staring at me. I began to sweat again. I tried profusely to get the Hydromorphone drip to give me some more pain killin’ juice, but it hadn’t been 6 minutes since the last hit.
At this point, I noticed Martha was getting out of bed. Colleen said that my eyes lit up. I got up out of bed again and told her the story about how when Martha goes to the bathroom I sneak over to the air conditioner and turn the AC on full blast. Colleen said I was like a mad woman as I grabbed my Hydromorphone drip thingy and ran over to the AC. She was gritting her teeth, praying that I wouldn’t slip on the floor.
After I turned up the AC, Colleen, the three kids, and I all went to the family gathering room. I sat on a regular chair, only because I wasn’t quick enough to grab the recliner before ‘neighborhood boy’ did. Colleen said that I kept staring over at ‘neighborhood boy’s’ chair while she listened to me talking. When ‘neighborhood boy’ got up out of the chair to grab a magazine, she says that I jumped out of my chair and literally RAN over to the recliner, whereupon ‘neighborhood boy’ looked dismayed as I took the cool chair away from him.
“I need this chair,” I explained to him.
Colleen said that she stayed with me in the family room for an hour before asking me if I would like her to get me some chocolate and magazines from the gift shop. It seemed to me like it had only taken Colleen 3 minutes to get the items, but she says she was down there for at least twenty minutes.
Col and the three kids had visited me for well over 2 hours—that I experienced, due to the meds, as being 10 minutes tops.
Colleen said that she was never as terrified in her life as she was when I jumped out of bed to turn the AC up. All she kept picturing in her mind was me slipping and then spending the rest of my life in a wheel chair, or worse. She also commented several times that I had flashed ‘neighborhood boy’ my buttocks when turning around after taking the bathrobe off. She didn’t let me off too easily for talking her ear off for the entire hour and a half that we spent in the family gathering room.
____________
When I think of the pre-op time that I spent in the hospital, I think of The Crystal Method, turning up the AC regardless of poor homophobic Martha freezing to death, and accidentally flashing ‘neighborhood boy’ with my leopard skin underwear.
Well, at least I was wearing underwear during my pre-op stay; that’s more than can be said about my post-op experience!
To be continued…
tags:
I am convinced that humor can be found everywhere, even amidst the direst of situations. One need only open their heart and mind to the joy humor has to offer at any given moment in order to witness this truth firsthand. You may ask what case in point I hold in my memory to make such a bold claim—what if I told you I was laughing my ass off in the Neurological ICU after having a 6-hour reconstructive surgery on my cervical spine. It’s true; I was laughing my ass off—but I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me start at the beginning:On July 29, 2005, I awoke to the wretched smell of my cat’s breath as she lovingly licked my eyelids and forehead. This was her passive-aggressive way of letting me know it was time to get up and feed her. As I lifted my head off the pillow, I felt and heard a ‘pop’ by my left shoulder blade. Immediately thereafter, a sharp pain shot down my left arm. I waited in anticipation for my upper body to entirely kink up; it never did. I sat motionless, reflecting on how different this pain was compared to other pinched nerves I’ve had—and I’d had lots of them, especially since being hit by a car in 1997. What I found the most curious was the fact that my left side was in pain, and not my right side, which was normally the case.
Reaching for my phone, I pushed the cat off the bed and then speed-dialed my mom at work.
“Hello. Dr. McCurdles office, how may I help you?”
“Mom…it’s happened again…,” I whispered, afraid that applying any sort of volume to my voice would exacerbate the pain shooting down my arm.
“What happened again?”
“’Pinched nerve in my back.”
“Well, you know what to do. Just take your muscle relaxants.”
“No…mom…it’s different this time. My back isn’t kinked up. It’s strange. It’s totally different. I heard a ‘pop’, and now I have this shooting pain down my left arm—but nothing’s kinked up.”
“Well, what do you want me to do?” she inquired, sounding helpless.
“I don’t know.”
___________
I was a complete nut while awaiting my emergency cervical spine surgery. Martha, my Neurology/3rd floor roommate, was 83 years old. She’d suffered a mild stroke and was awaiting for the last of her test results in order to be released. I can guarantee that the three days she spent with me were the worst days of her life. I was flying on Hydromorphone, Percocet, and a slew of other meds that were either being pumped into my veins or shoved down my throat. This translated into me sweating my ass off—even when the air conditioner was cranked all of the way up—and me talking non-stop.
At first, Martha was very cordial and inviting. She seemed to enjoy my conversation. It wasn’t until after about three hours of making my acquaintance that she began to pull the curtain that separated our beds. I tried to maintain conversation—regardless of the curtain—by asking her what she was watching on the TV. She was watching the Tony Danza talk show. I turned on my TV and decided upon watching the Ellen Degeneres show. Martha asked what I was watching.
“I’m watching Ellen Degeneres. I love her sense of humor. Do you like her?” I asked.
“No. She’s a homosexual. I wouldn’t watch her if you paid me a million bucks.”
I was able to deduce from Martha’s simple reply that sharing information regarding my personal life would not be such a good idea.
Martha made it clear that she thought I was a very kind person, but made it even more clear that she didn’t want to listen to my Percocet-induced ramblings all day. As soon as I’d open the curtain to talk to her, she’d pull it shut once more. That was fine with me; my parents had brought in my portable CD player and a slue of extra batteries. For the next day and a half, my ears were bombarded with The Crystal Method’s incredible fusion of dance beats and everything that’s cool in rock; I couldn’t get enough of their electronic hypnosis. The driving beats relentlessly pounded in my head. I knew first-hand what it was like to listen to techno while tripping out on foreign substances. In my case, the drugs were legal, and, what’s more, they kept me from screaming in agony.
The pain shooting down my left arm was so severe, that even a shot of Hydromorphone every 6 minutes wasn’t enough to ease the pain. Not only were earphones continually plugged into my ears, but also I cannot seem to remember a time when I wasn’t clutching an ice pack to my left upper arm. I remember writhing in pain; moaning so much that Martha had to turn up her TV.
Given Martha’s age, it wasn’t surprising to me that she was always cold. Now, picture a nearly freezing to death 83 year old coupled with a 36 year old who was perpetually overheating due to meds. The air conditioner was the cause of great distress; I wanted it turned up to 10 and Martha wanted it thrown out the window. Martha was older than I was, and I respected that fact enough to let her think that she could keep the air conditioner set at the level she thought appropriate. She would always adjust the ‘Cool’ level on her way to the bathroom. As soon as I heard the bathroom door click shut, I would fly out of bed and run over to the air conditioner, once again turning it up full blast. The fact that my neurosurgeon said that a simple slip on the floor could mean permanent paralysis (due to the disc problems in my spine) meant nothing to me then; I was only living for the moment!
Martha’s kids would come to visit her and I would hear her explain to them that no matter how much she turned the AC down, it was always freezing in the room. Her daughter was kind enough to bring her a crocheted blanket from home, which eased my pain of having to run over to the AC while Martha was peeing.
____
The funny thing about my stay in the Neurology Department while awaiting my cervical spine surgery was that I didn’t realize how much I was talking incessantly. To me, everything was normal. It wasn’t until after my surgery that people came out of silence to come clean about how manic, crazy, and annoying I was while awaiting to have my neck reconstructed.
My Uncle Bulldog, who hates to talk on the phone, says that I had him on the phone for 45 minutes. I had the secretary of my school on the phone for a half hour just to tell her that I would not be able to start the new school year as planned. Apparently, I told her my entire prognosis, as well as my entire medical history. I couldn’t believe the questions I was fielding from my boss and co-workers after my surgery. How did you know that? I would ask, only to be told—‘O, you told us that when you told us you wouldn’t be able to return to work until January.’
O crap, I thought—I wonder what else I told them!
The funniest story anyone has yet to tell me about my behavior while pre-op in the hospital had to do with my sister-in-law, Colleen: I was very excited to see that she had come to visit me during my second day on the Neurology floor. I was stoked that she brought Liev (7) and Megs (9), my niece and nephew. Colleen had also brought a neighborhood boy she was babysitting. I don’t remember his name. My version of the story is as follows:
Colleen arrives with the kids. They get me out of bed, walk me to the family meeting-area room, and I sit with the kids while Colleen goes to the gift shop to get me some magazines and a chocolate bar. Colleen comes back with the goodies, walks me back to the room, and says that she has to leave because she has to get some school work done for her new kindergarten teaching position. I couldn’t believe it: I could die while getting my neck ripped open by the docs and she comes and visits me for 10 MINUTES?? Jeez. What nerve!.
Colleen’s version of the story, which I concede is most likely closer to the truth than mine, goes something like this:
Colleen arrived in my hospital room with the three kids. I became exceedingly excited to see them all. I jumped out of bed, took off my bathrobe, and turned around to untangle the IV tubes from the gown—whereupon ‘neighborhood boy’ got a free glimpse of my bare backside, leopard skin patterned underwear and all. Colleen said sweat was running down my face and my hair was soaking wet. I looked at her, said, ‘Man, I’m cold!’, then threw my bathrobe back on, and hopped back in bed. I recall all three kids standing at the foot of the bed, just staring at me. I began to sweat again. I tried profusely to get the Hydromorphone drip to give me some more pain killin’ juice, but it hadn’t been 6 minutes since the last hit.
At this point, I noticed Martha was getting out of bed. Colleen said that my eyes lit up. I got up out of bed again and told her the story about how when Martha goes to the bathroom I sneak over to the air conditioner and turn the AC on full blast. Colleen said I was like a mad woman as I grabbed my Hydromorphone drip thingy and ran over to the AC. She was gritting her teeth, praying that I wouldn’t slip on the floor.
After I turned up the AC, Colleen, the three kids, and I all went to the family gathering room. I sat on a regular chair, only because I wasn’t quick enough to grab the recliner before ‘neighborhood boy’ did. Colleen said that I kept staring over at ‘neighborhood boy’s’ chair while she listened to me talking. When ‘neighborhood boy’ got up out of the chair to grab a magazine, she says that I jumped out of my chair and literally RAN over to the recliner, whereupon ‘neighborhood boy’ looked dismayed as I took the cool chair away from him.
“I need this chair,” I explained to him.
Colleen said that she stayed with me in the family room for an hour before asking me if I would like her to get me some chocolate and magazines from the gift shop. It seemed to me like it had only taken Colleen 3 minutes to get the items, but she says she was down there for at least twenty minutes.
Col and the three kids had visited me for well over 2 hours—that I experienced, due to the meds, as being 10 minutes tops.
Colleen said that she was never as terrified in her life as she was when I jumped out of bed to turn the AC up. All she kept picturing in her mind was me slipping and then spending the rest of my life in a wheel chair, or worse. She also commented several times that I had flashed ‘neighborhood boy’ my buttocks when turning around after taking the bathrobe off. She didn’t let me off too easily for talking her ear off for the entire hour and a half that we spent in the family gathering room.
____________
When I think of the pre-op time that I spent in the hospital, I think of The Crystal Method, turning up the AC regardless of poor homophobic Martha freezing to death, and accidentally flashing ‘neighborhood boy’ with my leopard skin underwear.
Well, at least I was wearing underwear during my pre-op stay; that’s more than can be said about my post-op experience!
To be continued…
tags:
tags: humor, about me, Ellen Degeneres, The Crystal Method, sexuality, A Little Bent
©2005 Marcy_Peanut. All rights reserved.
posted by Unknown at 12:50 PM
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