Today’s Guest Blogger: My husband, Jeff.
I’m sure that 99.9% of people in this world do not relish the fact of having to go to the hospital for anything. As far as most people are concerned, and especially men, if something were to come up, you would just hope that it would go away on its own. Lord knows I have been to enough hospitals over the last year to last me a lifetime. Sometimes though, it cannot be helped.
So yesterday I took the twins to the hospital. Wasn’t an emergency or anything. Amber had an appointment for an upper gastrointestinal scan, or “Upper GI,” in hospital speak. Got there, found a parking space, and strolled the twins in. I got Amber checked in, and was told to have a seat. So I sat with the twins, played with them, and waited.
And waited.
And waited.
Soon the mind begins to wander. You look around at the other people who are there and wonder…why are you here? What’s wrong with you? Does your walker double as a lethal weapon? People from all walks of life, young, old, white, black, asian, hispanic, doesn’t matter. Just by looking at them you can tell that they don’t want to be there.
Even I didn’t want to be there.
Soon we were called back, and were escorted to the radiology department. Once there, an x-ray technician ask to have Amber put into a gown. No problem there. I was about to go in when the tech said, “You will have to stay out here with your other daughter.” I was kind of apprehensive about this, but realizing that I could not leave Lauren by herself (who was asleep at this point) I sat outside in the hallway and waited.
And waited.
And waited. I think doctors have the patent on making people wait.
You know those scenes in the old movies? In the basement of some castle, a light flashing from a laboratory and hearing the screams of the poor innocent woman, all the while the evil doctor is laughing?
Fast forward to now.
I’m sitting out in the hallway, outside of the x-ray room. I’m hearing Amber scream at the top of her lungs. The “X-RAY IN USE” sign is flashing. I decide to call the other half. She tells me to be quiet for a moment, so that she can hear the blood curdling screams of Amber. “I can hear her. Oh, poor Amber,” she said, which is quite amazing in the fact that (1) it is over my cell phone, (2) I was about fifteen feet away, and (3) it was thru a solid wood door. In fact, I think the whole hospital heard Amber. Frankly, that wouldn’t surprise me.
Meanwhile, Lauren is still sleeping away.
The tech finally comes out with a tear stained Amber. “Feed her,” she said, which sounded more like an edict than a request. “We’ll be back in twenty minutes to do more scans so that we can see how the formula percolates.”
Great, now my daughter is a percolator. Not a patient. A percolator.
I fed her, and they came back and took her in for more scans to see how she was “percolating.” There was more screams, more flashing of the “X-RAY IN USE” sign. I was about ready to go in there and say “Enough is enough.” Seemed to me Amber had suffered plenty at this point. But the doctor came out and said that they were all done, and that Amber could be dressed. Amber gave me the “get me the hell out of here” look. I got her dressed, and we left for home.
When we got home, I fed her again, and put her in her bouncer, where she took and hour and fifteen minute nap. Poor child. Don’t blame her. That was a rough one
Alas, though, another appointment survived.
Can’t wait until Thursday.
Physical therapy screening.
Ooh, that ought to be fun.
WW
