Crash, But No Burn

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Details: After some abdominal surgery and I was ready to head home, I decided to get some exercise with quick walking through my hospital floor. Without realizing, my right foot tended to drag just slightly, catching that foot on the pavement and throwing me hard to the concrete.

My foot felt a bit wet, so I looked down to discover that my assumedly blue blood was crimson red, and lots of it. Within just a couple of seconds, many hands materialized to keep me still while analyzing my condition. With my bones apparently still in place, the medical folks hefted me from the floor and deposited me in a wheel chair.

After just a few more seconds they had me back in the hospital room and began sowing me back up. That began the most thorough testing I’ve ever seen. The first thing I noticed was my glasses’ left temple piece was flattened, preventing any good TV viewing. Next I discovered some internal brain bleeding, which is not a good thing. The news they gave me was I had better take no more falls, or that could kill me. Shortly thereafter I needed to go to the potty.

I awoke in bed after my unconscious crashing to the floor and bashing the bathroom door opened. At least that unintentional embarrassing movement failed to hurt my feelings. Then they had to code me. I didn’t even experience some white light upon entry to the nether world.

They questioned me about such complex issues like my name, which had temporally escaped my notice. Other amnesia-related questions such as my location and date were also beyond my grasp. I did, however, recognize my family, but without their names.

Things gradually came back to me. I still can’t remember the nursing home’s name or its location(mental block). But it does make sense hear it. The Thought Cops (mental therapist) practiced some of the most cruel exercises, like requiring the date and telling me what was on the pictures they showed me.

My driving was another issue. Until they decided I was in my right mind they refused to allow me to drive. And I don’t like cabs. After a couple months I now have permission to drive. What a wonderful convince.

Apparently my improvement will come slowly, and the experts tell me I’ll never get full recovery. People tell me that I’m so much better than I was, though it’s hard for me to see it. All I can do is praise God for what I have and not regret what I don’t have.

Tale of the Dual-Port Pump

Late one evening a hospital patient happened by his neighbor’s room and made a mental note of the I.V. pump in use there. When at last he returned to his own room he carefully inspected the pump he had been assigned and became indignant, and righteously so.

The Hospital hall-wanderer nearly tripped on his bedside tray getting to his nurse-call button. The interminable delay of two minutes passed, and when the nurse approached his room he fell into a minor rage, “How can you people ignore the needs of your patients so blatantly?”

Stricken, the professional R.N. queried, “Mister Hall, how have we failed you?”

Blustering now, trying in vain to control his justified outrage, he blurted, “My neighbor has a dual-port I.V. pump while I’m stuck with this old single-port junk.”

“But Mister Hall, you only need one port to feed your I.V. I’m sure that if —”

“That’s not the point!” he spat. “If I ever needed both ports I’d be SOL! You know how long you people take to respond to patients’ needs.”

“But Mister Hall, you’re scheduled for discharge in the morning. In fact, I have orders to remove your I.V. during tonight’s rounds.”

“Again, not the point, Florence!”

Hall’s sarcastic reference to Florence Nightingale hurt the caring nurse to the core, but unflapped, she decided to let the storm blow over.

“Ah, I see I got your attention, nurse.” His demeanor was becoming ever more menacing. “So listen to this! Yours will be the first name on the law suit I will file tomorrow, I’m an attorney, you know!” Hall’s face was by then a couple of shades of crimson. “And I … I shall personally see … that …” Hall began clutching his chest. “That you shall … shall … loose … your …”

With that, Mister Hall fell into an inert pile on the floor of room 357.”

The nurse stared at the corpse with concern for a few moments, reached over to the intercom and said, “Housekeeping, toxic cleanup in room 357, stat.”