OK, where were we dear diary?
Oh ya, I left three weeks ago to take advantage of an all inclusive offer from St. Joseph’s Resort and Spa that included one free surgery. Since I had a coupon that was about to expire, I accepted the offer.
Well, upon arrival, the grumpy, disgruntled potential customer was expecting to be greeted by this decade’s version of Nurse Ratched, of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest fame, which might be translated later into a pretty decent meandering column of discontent.
Alas, I got Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm. There wasn’t a Ratchet on the roster.
Now what kind of story could I weave with a cast of sunny dispositions? One needs conflict. Unfortunately, that was in short supply at St. Joe’s Resort and Spa.
Shift after shift they kept pouring in to the ICU and surgical units. And yes, there was a Rebecca there, but I don’t think she owned a farm, just a cart of needles and tape. In fact, her’s was the first face I encountered as I awoke from Dr. Horri’s la la land inducing coma. The second was that of the bride of 39 years. Now I didn’t write the names down, but I know Rebecca handed off to Chelsea who handed off to Jennifer and/or Jessica who made way for Anita, Mona, Bev, Dana, Amanda, Michelle, Tereina and another sweet-smiling caregiver with the hyphenated name who I enjoyed visiting with pre-op and post-op. Sorry, I don’t have you all memorized and names correctly spelled kids. I had to go with my memory bank.
One 12-hour shift made way for another and I took note that incoming troops always arrived 15 to 20 minutes early and the departing team leaders always left 20 minutes to a half-hour after the completion of their shift and check lists. Again, what kind of story does that make? Cool proficiency? Who wants that!
I asked Dr. Sheikh to grade his operating room performance, but he just smiled and suggested he might have made a bit of a zig-zag incision just to make it more interesting. I didn’t believe him, but I’m not sure. I don’t know that much about surgeries since this was my first-ever overnight stay in a hospital as a customer and my first-ever IV, and first-ever dealing with pain-killing juices.
But there he was, every morning, checking on his handiwork and providing an updated report. During one of our more thoughtful conversations he informed me that my bride could pronounce the name Khalid with perfection, while I, could not. I informed him that I could spell Mississippi backwards, and she couldn’t, so she shouldn’t feel too superior.
So with no pain registering, except for a few hours between shifts in drugs, it became a waiting game. A stroll down a corridor with a Jennifer, Jessica or Chelsea in tow along with an IV tree, became a highlighted adventure for the day. The bride produced some second-hand flowers. I viewed more campaign rhetoric on CBC television than what is deemed healthy and attempted to dine, although that became a strange event since I temporarily lost any sense of taste.
Soon enough, I moved from one unit to another, but the string of sunny dispositions continued to haunt me. The wanna be disgruntled customer was turning gruntled amidst all the positive vibes.
I eventually earned full parole and the coupon expired.
Oh, Chelsea, Jennifer … that tape you thought you misplaced, it might be in the second drawer of the bedside table in Room 2 in ICU, right beside the extra towel. Or it might not be.
I send them all my love and respect but, really, I probably deserved a Ratchet not all those positive Sunnybrook Farm practitioners.
