A Few Hospital Related Bitches and Moans I've Been Holding onto For Over a Month

The title says it all. In no particular order...

• Could you not announce to the entire waiting room, which is the size of a football field, that we're "self-pay"? Would that be possible?
• What's with the reliance on pharmaceuticals to solve every problem? Eh? Whilst I was in residence, I developed a rash on my back. It wasn't anything serious, but it was uncomfortable so I asked the nurse if I could have some benadryl for it. She dutifully started looking at my chart and saw I was cleared for it and was about to get ready to go and get some, when it occurred to me that she meant to give me an injection of benadryl, not the topical stuff I was asking for. I stated as much and she said, "Oh, we don't have that." Eh? I'm in a hospital and they don't have Benadryl cream? How is that possible? They have this phenomenal, computer operated cabinet to house the drugs and through some sort of magic it only allows the drawer that holds the particular medicine the nurse is looking for to open up, while the rest stay locked. This thing is HUGE, too, and they have TWO of them on this floor. There's enough drugs in both of them to make the fifth, sixth and seventh fleets, respectively, very, very happy and yet there's no benadryl cream? I simply told the husband to bring the cream from home. And it worked, too.
• And while we're on the topic of overlooking the obvious, let's chat about gas, shall we? I had some bad gas pains while I was in residence. This, in the scheme of things was a good thing as it meant my gastrointestinal system was working, even if I couldn't give it anything to work on. But the pains were horrible. I was bent over half the time and miserable. I wanted them to go away so I asked for something. What did they give me? Dilaudid. Which is a narcotic. And they gave me a lot of it. What they wouldn't give me, however, was Gas X, or mylicon, which would have solved the actual problem. When I got home, I had two tablets and---POOOF!----the pain was magically gone.

  This was interesting in that the doctors claimed they couldn't give me anything to stop the gas pains because they wanted the system to keep working, even if it was painful. But, as it turns out, the reason I didn't have any appetite was because of the gas pains. The morning after I got out of the hospital, I ate a soft boiled egg and a whole piece of toast without a problem---and I was mildly hungry when I ate it. So, I'll leave it to you, my devoted Cake Eater Readers, to do the math on that particular problem.

• They need to find something better to wrap up IV's for showering than saran wrap. It just doesn't work.
• There has got to be a more fashionable alternative to hospital gowns than what is on offer. Really. They're ugly. And don't even get me started on the bright white circulation tights I had to wear for a week. Oy.
• Although, I will say this much about hospital-issued clothing: I really liked the panties they gave me to wear. I liked them so much, I stole a pair and am still wearing them every so often. Very comfortable.
• TORT REFORM NOW! You bastard personal injury lawyers are really on my shit list. Why, you ask, while you cower in fear of the Cake Eater, are you, a personal injury lawyer, on my shit list? What could you, a mere instrument of the law, have done to get on my bad side in such an egregious way? Well, let me tell you: this hospital had no heating pads that actually emitted, you know, heat because you assholes sued the hospital after some idiot managed to burn themselves with one.

  After my surgery, I asked for a heating pad. I was told they'd have to order one, but the nurse brought me a hot blanket instead. I didn't think much about it at the time, but it should have struck me as odd that they'd have to order a heating pad. You'd think that would be something they'd have on hand. Alas, I was drugged up, so I didn't think too much about it, other than to note I was making the nurses and nurses' assistants run around a lot, fetching me blankets out of the warmer.

  The next morning, the heating pad arrived and where I was expecting a simple heating pad, like the kind you'd buy at a drug store, what I received was something different entirely. It was a heating pad, all right, but it was, in essence, a big rubber pad that looked like the larger variety of bubble wrap. It had a small water heater running to it via flexible metal tubes. The theory was this: you poured distilled water into the heater, it warmed up and, after traversing the metal tubes, it flooded the little pillows in the rubber pad with soothing warm water. You were, in theory, supposed to get some relief from this contraption. It didn't happen in reality because you couldn't adjust the heat on the water heater. It wouldn't let you and it was set low because of the fears that someone would burn themselves and would, inevitably, sue. Because of this, and some heat loss in the metal tubes, well, it actually seemed as if the temperature of the heating pad was less than my body temperature.

  This thing was worthless, but I used it anyway. It at least did a pretty good job of holding onto the heat from the constant supply of warm blankets that were applied on top of it. I swore repeatedly that if I won the Powerball, I was going to endow the floor with enough heating pads for all and set up a small legal fund to fight off the personal injury lawyers.

  All I can hope is that somewhere, there's a personal injury lawyer who has made some money off of one of these suits, that is suffering mightily after severe abdominal surgery because due to liability issues, they can't have a heating pad

  Heh. That would be justice.

Ah, I feel a wee bit better now.