Day 4: A Hard Night's Day
(continued from previous numbered-day entries)
Wednesday, December 15, 2004:
Dozing off the night before was a challenge. It was my first night in a hospital recliner since 1995, the night Natalie was born, but the chair wasn’t the problem. The lady behind the curtain had evidently been prescribed “TV sedation.” Her little wall-mounted tube had been on non-stop since checking in. With the help of a loud fan, we were able drown out the sound, but all night long the room flickered like the opening credits of The Twilight Zone, and from somewhere in that “dimension of sight and sound” we suddenly woke to the soft clap of a breakfast tray on Julie’s bed stand. A single bowl of oatmeal stared back oat Julie’s blurry eyes. In shadows on the curtain behind her, I saw someone delivering what must have been a sampler from Old Country Buffet. “Julie’s right,” I thought, “something’s wrong with this picture.”
A little while later, a male/female EMT team rolled in a gurney to take Julie down for her ambulance ride to Mercy. A young trainee followed them. They couldn’t have picked a worse time to arrive. Julie was fine, but just as they came in the lady behind the curtain sat up suddenly with an ominous groan, grabbed the large waste basket beside her bed and started re-serving breakfast in resounding portions.
Poor Julie’s mouth clamped shut and her eyes widened each time she heard the lady in bed one. She climbed on the gurney herself and helped the techs buckle her in, trying hard not to look in the direction of the eruptions as they rolled toward the door.
Those of you who know Julie know she is an absolute trooper in nearly all tests of personal fortitude. In high school, for instance, she was low man on the housekeeping totem pole of a nursing home and had to do chores that I still can’t believe OSHA allows at any pay grade —denim and lace, this girl!
There is one thing, however, that she just can’t stomach and that is when someone else looses theirs. Julie’s what I call a sympathetic puker—you know, the kind of person who never lets someone throw-up alone. I first learned this several years ago when some friends took us to a Barry Manilow concert at the Iowa State Fair. Some guy behind us in the grand stand had too much Barry or beer or both, and Woah! He hurled right in the middle of the “Copacabana!” Julie got that look, and I knew if we didn’t get her out of there this was going to be real a show stopper. An usher whisked us away in the nick of time and eventually showed us to some empty seats in the third row. By then, Barry was belting out the chorus of “Looks Like We Made It.!” Julie leaned over and moaned, “Just barely.”
I knew this was a similar situation and motioned the EMTs to the door. As they rolled past bed one, a voice said, “By, neighbor. Best of luck.” It was the lady!... with her head in the waste basket! It sounded as if she were talking through the heating vent between our basement and kitchen. Julie returned a sincere farewell and best wishes (which impressed me because until that moment she had found it difficult to appreciate the lady at a social level).
I took a moment to grab our belongings and began to leave. Wanting to thank bed one for her kind words, I looked her way for an instant. Her head was still down in the wastebasket between her legs. Any attempt to describe this image without sounding cruel is beyond my limited skills. Think “Winnie the Sumo Pooh” face-down in a honey pot. I felt really sorry for her.
“Hope you’re feeling better soon,” I said lamely. She only waved without looking up so I doubt I would recognize her if we were ever to meet again.
(Day 4 continued above...)
Wednesday, December 15, 2004:
Dozing off the night before was a challenge. It was my first night in a hospital recliner since 1995, the night Natalie was born, but the chair wasn’t the problem. The lady behind the curtain had evidently been prescribed “TV sedation.” Her little wall-mounted tube had been on non-stop since checking in. With the help of a loud fan, we were able drown out the sound, but all night long the room flickered like the opening credits of The Twilight Zone, and from somewhere in that “dimension of sight and sound” we suddenly woke to the soft clap of a breakfast tray on Julie’s bed stand. A single bowl of oatmeal stared back oat Julie’s blurry eyes. In shadows on the curtain behind her, I saw someone delivering what must have been a sampler from Old Country Buffet. “Julie’s right,” I thought, “something’s wrong with this picture.”
A little while later, a male/female EMT team rolled in a gurney to take Julie down for her ambulance ride to Mercy. A young trainee followed them. They couldn’t have picked a worse time to arrive. Julie was fine, but just as they came in the lady behind the curtain sat up suddenly with an ominous groan, grabbed the large waste basket beside her bed and started re-serving breakfast in resounding portions.
Poor Julie’s mouth clamped shut and her eyes widened each time she heard the lady in bed one. She climbed on the gurney herself and helped the techs buckle her in, trying hard not to look in the direction of the eruptions as they rolled toward the door.
Those of you who know Julie know she is an absolute trooper in nearly all tests of personal fortitude. In high school, for instance, she was low man on the housekeeping totem pole of a nursing home and had to do chores that I still can’t believe OSHA allows at any pay grade —denim and lace, this girl!
There is one thing, however, that she just can’t stomach and that is when someone else looses theirs. Julie’s what I call a sympathetic puker—you know, the kind of person who never lets someone throw-up alone. I first learned this several years ago when some friends took us to a Barry Manilow concert at the Iowa State Fair. Some guy behind us in the grand stand had too much Barry or beer or both, and Woah! He hurled right in the middle of the “Copacabana!” Julie got that look, and I knew if we didn’t get her out of there this was going to be real a show stopper. An usher whisked us away in the nick of time and eventually showed us to some empty seats in the third row. By then, Barry was belting out the chorus of “Looks Like We Made It.!” Julie leaned over and moaned, “Just barely.”
I knew this was a similar situation and motioned the EMTs to the door. As they rolled past bed one, a voice said, “By, neighbor. Best of luck.” It was the lady!... with her head in the waste basket! It sounded as if she were talking through the heating vent between our basement and kitchen. Julie returned a sincere farewell and best wishes (which impressed me because until that moment she had found it difficult to appreciate the lady at a social level).
I took a moment to grab our belongings and began to leave. Wanting to thank bed one for her kind words, I looked her way for an instant. Her head was still down in the wastebasket between her legs. Any attempt to describe this image without sounding cruel is beyond my limited skills. Think “Winnie the Sumo Pooh” face-down in a honey pot. I felt really sorry for her.
“Hope you’re feeling better soon,” I said lamely. She only waved without looking up so I doubt I would recognize her if we were ever to meet again.
(Day 4 continued above...)
posted by .Tom Kapanka | 1:12 PM
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