My Hospital Stay: Part 1

This post has nothing to do with basketball. Don't get used to it, I promise. I don't know how many posts I will write about my current hospitalization, but here is the first one. 

I was sleeping rather deeply, enjoying a mildly drug induced dream, into which my addled brain had incorporated elements of the Celtics winning by 20 over the Knicks and the crappy movie (Bounty Hunter) I watched to fall asleep just two hours ago, when I was awakened rudely by a cacophony of sounds.

BEEDEEBEEDEEBEEDEEBEEDEEBEEDEE *pounding footsteps*..."Oh Urma, sweetie, settle down" *confused spluttering from Urma* BEEDEEBEEDEEBEEDEEBEEDEE!

It seems Urma Across the Hall has figured out how to rid herself of her sensor. Again. Wonderful. 

You see, Urma Across the Hall has been slipping her heart rate sensor off her finger all night, which makes her heart sensor (not the brightest of machines, we'll name it Homer) think "OHMYHOLYMOTHER, URMA IS DYING!!" 

So while Homer has a panic attack, some poor nurse is forced to run into Urma's room to see that...yes, once again, Urma has outsmarted her machine by waiving her arms around in such random fashion that Homer has fallen off, and poor Homer, who is desperately in need of a vacation (or possibly retirement by this point) warbles loudly into the not-so-peaceful hospital night.

Needless to say, I have been dealing with the situation in a mature, adult fashion by waking up, cursing at the world into my pillow, and stumbling off to the bathroom to think snarky thoughts and drown my sorrows in massive amounts of IV-induced, over-hydrated pissing.

You can imagine, then, my consternation when my nurse of the evening decided that I needed a heart rate sensor of my own to wear for the night, since I've been hooked up to a magic button that injects me with pain medication. The magic button (here on out known as Gandalf) is probably my best friend in the hospital, with apologies to my family and Dustin, both of whom have visited me daily, but cannot, at the press of a button, fill my body with chuckles. All it takes is one poke at Gandalf, and my stomach cramping (and really, any other unpleasant sensation imaginable) goes washing off into the netherworlds of my conscious. However, several dumb unfortunate people have apparently used too much of their own personal Gandalf, and have passed away in the night from it, forcing those of us who use him responsibly to wear heart rate sensors. I was less than pleased with this arrangement for several reasons, not the least of which being my sensor's incredibly unfortunate placement for typing.

Whether or not another reason for my consternation was the sheer volume of snarky tweets and Facebook statuses I had recently posted bitching about Urma Across the Hall...well, I leave you to judge if my character is that low. (It is). 

My new sensor, which will from now on be known as Ernie, is very guarded in his enthusiasm. When he doesn't feel a pulse, Ernie is still very unsure whether or not he should alert the hospital staff. He doesn't really seem to have mastered the concept that a beating heart is essential to the human survival, though I'm sure that when he DOES master that concept, he will be a first rate heart rate sensor, no doubt ALMOST as perceptive as Homer. But for now, when I need to use the bathroom and I'm forced to unplug myself from Ernie, it sounds something like this...

BEEP! (Ernie thinks...Ernie can't decide...but Ernie figures he better...) BEEP! (Ernie: Um, I don't think something's right here...Can't quite my finger on it...I better...) BEEP! (Ernie realizes, through great mental prowess, that his beeping isn't getting a response, so ERNIE GOES FOR IT!) BEEP! BEEP! (Hey guys! HEY! Guys!) BEEP!

Unfortunately, at the moment, it's four in the morning, and my stomach is rumbling threateningly. I pull aside my oddly over-warm bedcovers that have been making my legs sweat all night, and gingerly unplug Ernie, who is instantly on the alert. 

Beep! (Hmm...my incredibly acute sensors can sense...something...)

I sigh loudly, and move myself in a clunky, clumsy fashion towards the bathroom. 

Beep! BEEP! (Dammit, Ernie, please just shut up.)

Then, as I situate myself comfortably on the toilet, across the hall I hear the call of Homer.

BEEDEEBEEDEEBEEDEE! *pounding footsteps* "Urma sweetie..."

To which Ernie responds BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

Yes. Ernie has awoken Urma Across the Hall, who, in yet another remarkable feat of human effort, has UNPLUGGED HOMER AGAIN! Now Ernie and Homer appear to be engaged in either a yelling match between robots, or the mating call of the most annoying fucking birds on the planet.

BEEDEEBEEDEEBEEDEEBEEDEE!

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

BEEDEEBEEDEEBEEDEEBEEDEE!

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

My doctor keeps asking how I slept. I keep telling him I'm sleeping fine, which is, of course, a dirty whorish lie. It's 4 in the morning, and Urma Across the Hall is a master of her craft.

Sigh. 

Gandalf, my friend! Let's hang out!