The Hospital

As I was saying last week, Rachel and I spent last Monday in the hospital together. During her battle with Death of the Chest aka Bronchitis, she fainted in the hallway and twisted her ankle pretty badly. After helping her to the bedroom, we noticed the melon sized lump in her foot that was the color of grape flavored Gatorade. Obviously, walking became a huge issue for her seeing that anytime she bent her foot she winced in pain. Her fainting spell occurred in the wee hours of the morning which meant I was extremely exhausted and half asleep, making driving impossible for me. As much as I think she needed to go to the hospital, there was no possible way that I would be able to get us there safely and she refused to get an ambulance. In fact, she repeatedly said "no ambulance" for about 5 minutes when we were still in the hallway together. Instead, I forced her to call out of work and we set our alarm for butt fucking early to call her doctor to make her an appointment.

The next morning, Rachel calls at 8 to make an appointment and the receptionist tells her that they are understaffed and she'll have to leave a message for the nurse. The nurse calls back two hours later to reiterate what the receptionist just told Rachel, though reassures her that the doctor wants to squeeze her in since she fainted. After another two hours of waiting for another phone call from the office, the receptionist finally calls back to tell her that she has to go to the hospital since she fainted. Why she couldn't just say that in the first place at 8 makes no sense to me, but that's the way her doctor office rolls.

Rachel and I head to the hospital around 2, check in with the Triage nurse and then at the Registration department and then sit for the next two hours in the waiting area. While waiting, we played Scrabble on her phone, as usual she handed my ass to me, defeating me by about 70 points. She's evil when it comes to playing Scrabble.

After waiting for two hours, a nurse comes to fetch her to take her to the hospital area. Of course, Mr. Nurse Man is walking  sprinting as if he's a marathon, while Rachel is hobbling behind him. Really dude! Apparently the nursing staff spend their days as hospital staff and their evenings as triathlon runners.

They give Rachel a gurney right next to the ambulance entrance, which meant that for the next four hours I got to witness every patient who arrived from ambulance come into the hospital. This included a young guy with tattoos up to his neck on a breathing apparatus, a guy who's arm was wrapped up under his coat, several elderly people, a pregnant woman, a woman who wouldn't stop shaking, a guy with a head wound, and a few other assorted patients whose injuries/ailments I can't even remember.

Rachel was taken away several times for a random assortment of tests, including X-Rays and a CAT scan. During these long trips, I got to people watch in the hospital, which was the equivalent of watching a horror movie. While Rachel was away, I got to witness:

• They wheeled a man out of a room who was under some heavy duty drugs. He was very unconscious with a hospital bracelet on his wrist that read "Limp Amputation." When he was rolled by me, he had all of his limbs so I think it's safe to assume that he was on his way to have an arm or leg hacked off.
• Another patient was wheeled by with an IV in her neck. That's right! In her neck. Ew!
• Two gurneys away from Rachel were two police officers from the sheriffs department chatting with a few of the nurses. The two officers were there for several hours, and it wasn't until Rachel left for her X-Ray that I realized that they were guarding a prisoner. About an hour before we were finally discharged, there was a changing of the guard. Two new officers arrived with a new pair of chained cuffs for the prisoner to be cuffed to his bed. The original set of officers walked by with their pair of cuffs. It was a very bizarre scene.
• The woman next to me had no idea what medications she takes, which I guess is common with the elderly. Her son was with her, who I think I recognized as a Stop and Shop customer, and had no idea what the hell she was on either. Poor lady.
• At the opposite end of the hallway there was a woman who wouldn't stop shaking. I think her gurney was actually moving across the hallway due to her vibrating body.
• Directly in front of us in the hallway perpendicular to us, there was a man hooked up to an IV. He got up once to use the bathroom and I made the mistake of going in after him (same sex bathrooms suck ass). Not only did he pee on the seat, but he also left a bloody piece of gauze on the ground which I almost slipped on. Later in the evening, a doctor wearing surgery scrubs, the surgery hair wrap thingy, and carrying gloves and surgical tools. Before I can fully prepare myself, she whips out her surgical tools and starts operating on the guys side in the hallway. Ugh.

Anyone who knows me, knows that I am not a fan of horror movies or blood. Hospitals are obviously not a pleasant experience for me, though I have never encountered anything quite like this hospital trip. Then again, a majority of the hospital trips I've been on, I'm usually the patient. I think this is the first hospital trip where I was the support rather than the sickly one. 

During our marathon day at the hospital and Rachel's gauntlet of ER tests, we tried to keep ourselves occupied. One of the games to keep myself preoccupied was the alphabet game, where you come up with something for each letter of the alphabet. Our game consisted of the following:

I'm going on a picnic and I'm going to bring: an apple, bamboo shoots, a Christmas tree, dalmatians, egg salad, Frodo Baggins, golf balls, a hamster wheel, ink, Jen, ketchup, Linkin Park CD, map, Nigeria, octopi, panasomic tv, Rachel in her hospital gurney, a stick, twelve twigs, an umbrella, Veruca Salt, a window washer, Xrays of Rachel's chest, foot, and ankle, a yellow sweatshirt, and a zoologist.

Facebook Statuses 8 (Special Christmas Edition)

Status: Dear Santa, It is really ironic that you should judge who's naughty and nice. I mean your the one with the sweatshop with children slaves working for you all year long, not to mention all those kids that you put in your lap every year! And on top of all that, over a million "breaking and entering" felonies every Christmas eve! I'm not gonna bother mentioning your drunk ass in the street chasing after women screaming "Hoe, hoe, hoe." So putting things into perspective, I've been a Saint compared to you, please leave me a million dollars and I won't report you.

Status: I find Santa Baby misleading. Last I checked there weren't women beating down doors for fat, married men who work one day a year.

Status: Dear Santa, I am writing to ask you take back the black fluffy bunny you bought me last year, that was not the type of rabbit I asked for!!!
Comment: MUM!!!!

Status: Merry Xmas everyone! Don't forget to leave cookies for jesus.

Status: Santa came!!
Comment: did he get it in your hair??

Status: Went to Barnes & Noble to buy Anton LeVey's book "The Satanic Bible" (just for knowledge's sake, I swear), and when I couldn't locate it, the employee that helped me was named Jesus. Merry Christmas!

Status: Dear kids, there is no Santa. Those presents are from your parents love, Wikileaks.

Status: I hate wrapping things that are not square
Comment: you should reconsider, cause we don't want any little edwins running around

Status: I dare you to replace "Santa Clause" with "Jesus Christ" in the song "Santa Claus is Comin' to Town." The song then becomes even creepier.

Flashback: The Pajama Pants

Since this blog was started in May of 2010, there are countless stories that would have made great blog posts, but would have never seen the light of day since the occurred prior to May 2010. Therefore, I've created a new segment: Flashback. Similar to what I have done with Seven, I'm going to try to post a new Flashback about once a week (perhaps more if I run out of things to write about).

Without further ado, I would like to present the first Flashback installment: Christmas 2009.
Date: December 2009

As many of you may know, I have a thing for black and red plaid designs, which does have a specific name, though I can't actually find it. A world of information at my fingertips and I can't seem to find the type of plaid I like. Go figure.

While I was Christmas shopping for the fam, I came across an amazing pair of flannel pajama pants at Old Navy, that I simply fell in love with. It took a lot out of me, but I restrained myself from buying them for myself, knowing full well that Diddy and Momma Dukes have a habit of buying items for me that aren't on the Christmas list but are perfect for me. Plus, a majority of my clothes come from Old Navy, so I knew the probability of one of them buying them for me was pretty high.

On Christmas morning, one of the first gifts I opened was the flannel pajama pants. Like I said, the probability was high and Diddy pulled through. I was quite ecstatic about my new pajama pants and when I got home that night, I had to wash them so that I could immediately wear them. (I have to wash all Old Navy clothes before I wear them. There factory contains something that I am allergic too, and if I fail to wash them I break out in hives all over my body.)

Rachel and I had a lazy day after Christmas, though I did need to do laundry. Since I was feeling productive, I decided that I was finally going to get around to bleaching a stain out of one of my favorite white sweatshirts. While in the laundry facility downstairs, I managed to spill bleach on my black Vans sneakers, which happened to be the first gift that my Sperm Donner of a father actually bought for me in years. I was pretty disappointed, but was relieved that I didn't spill any on my new pants.

I headed upstairs to lament to Rachel, who just stared at me, with a look on her face that read "oh my god, she doesn't know." I sat down on the couch and continued to watch television and noticed a very tiny spot of bleach on my knee. I wanted to cry but kept it together. Leave it to me to ruin something that I just received.

After ten more minutes of lamenting about destroying everything great in my world I finally calmed down. Within moments of calming down, I finally went to take off my sneakers when I realized the huge mistake I made. I not only bleached my somewhat new sneakers, I had also bleached the entire ankle of my pants.

What...the...fuck...

Now I understood the expression on Rachel's face. She had already realized my Epic Fail of a mistake, but didn't have the heart to tell me. I think she was really hoping that I wouldn't realize the huge mistake until the very last moment. After literally having a temper tantrum, Rachel forced me to go shower and get ready for the day. Instead of having a lazy day, she was determined to take me to every Old Navy in New Jersey to find a new pair of pants.

During our all day marathon of Old Navy shopping, we never found the pants. When we got home that night, out of sheer guilt, I called Diddy to tell her about the pants. I thought she would reach through the phone and try to strangle me, but instead she actually started to laugh. First at the fact that I called her and practically scared the pants off of her by starting the conversation with "there's something I need to tell you." Then, she went into hysterics that I had actually cried most of the morning for bleaching my new pants.

To make me feel a little better, she tried to find the pants online but had no luck. For the last year, I've been wearing my bleached pajama pants. Rachel even offered to take black and red Sharpie markers to my pants to fill in the missing spots.

This past Christmas, Diddy made me forget about the whole ordeal by buying me a new pair of flannel, black and red plaid pajama pants. Rachel went all out with the black and red plaid by giving me a new wallet, hat, and shirt with the same pattern. I am now in black and red plaid heaven.