The Hospital Gown

This is probably my last segment in "General Hospital" mode. Many of you will issue a sigh of relief and that's okay because I can't hear you over the internet. This is the last in a dynamic three part series of blogs discussing my recent hospital event. Today's topic is " hospital gowns".

Here's the situation. You've just entered a medical facility because you are extremely sick, injured or in need of some corrective surgery. You feel discouraged and extremely vulnerable, sometimes alone and yes, sometimes, just plain scared. To counteract these distressing emotions, the great minds in medical practice got together and said, "What can we do to ease the stress of our patients, make them feel more at ease, calmer, more encouraged?"

The answer they came up with is: "Let's ask them to strip all their clothes off, become buck naked, and then we'll give them a piece of clothing to put on that covers almost 33% of their bodies. Folks, I've seen women on the front of Sport's Illustrated's Swimsuit edition that have more on than what I was asked to wear! I mean come on, who wants to walk around with your you- know- what sticking out the back of their gown. And it get's worse. They tell you it's okay if you wear your socks and shoes with your gown as you walk down the hall to whatever room they intend to start the "procedures" in. Boy, if you weren't humiliated enough before, try walking in front of your wife dressed like that! You may not have felt bad when you came in, but you get to feeling worse by the minute.

The Last Word

Possibly you are an individual who gets great joy out of arguing. Not my cup of tea, but there are those who enjoy a robust exchange of words sometimes leading to a heated debate. Many times, satisfaction only comes with "getting in the last word". If you fall under this category, I've got the perfect job for you, an anesthesiologist.

It my recent surgical event, I had a short pleasant chat with a lady who held this position just before I "went under". She tried to make pleasant conversation, asking about my occupation etc. She immediately inquired as to what breed of cattle we raised. To this, I replied they were mostly Angus.

Keeping a sharp eye on her watch and whatever was dripping in my veins, she announced that Angus were okay but Herefords were clearly a superior breed of cattle. Even though I had other things on my mind, I felt the need to correct her, even offer up the rationale that a cross between the two breeds might be best for all. But of course, I lapsed into unconsciousness before I could correct her. And I know, she knew, this would be the case. When I finally came to, I was in a strange room looking at a new set of people and had no chance to correct her. She probably starts arguments like this all day, year round and wins every one of them. And to top if off, she wears a mask so you can't even identify her later. So if you're a "get the last word in person", consider a career in the anesthesiology.

Therapy

I want to apologize to the thousands of people, alright, apologize to both of you, who religiously follow this blog. I had back surgery a month ago and I've just been in a bad mood and haven't felt like writing. But with improvement every day, it's time to get back to blogging. Especially given all the subjects (hospitals, hospital gowns, doctors, medication, etc.) lend to good stories.

Today I will discuss therapy.

On my last trip to see the doctor he prescribed therapy and being the good patient I am, I made an appointment even though I had some doubts that it would do any good. Folks, let me tell you, therapists get right at it. Let me describe my first treatment. I was asked to lay on my back on an examination table and spread by legs out horizontally as far as I could. Imagine a giant upside down "Y" with me laying there, my legs sticking out into mid-air. I didn't think that was too bad, a little uncomfortable, but like they say, no pain, no gain. Then came the surprise. Two therapists, stationed about thirty feet away, came sprinting toward me yelling war- like screams. Simultaneously they both leapt into the air, at least eight feet, and came crashing down on each leg. They say they could hear my screams fourteen blocks away, people stopping whatever they were doing and wondering, "Was this really the end of the world"? I imagine they performed several other tactical body adjustments while I was unconscious, I can't really say. I did feel a lot looser when I left their establishment, although I could only walk backwards and I'm hoping to overcome that in future treatments.

Okay, I'm exaggerating a little bit, the people were really quite patient, competent and professional. But boy was it embarrassing to find out how much strength I'd lost. Better keep working.