More Adventures in the World of Health Care

 

In the nephrologist's office today we sat opposite this wall.  What, BBBH wondered, is going on behind that door?  We found out when an attendant came out to call the next patient.  She left the door open long enough, more than long enough, three or four minutes, for us to see that inside people were undergoing hemodialysis.  Beautiful was not encouraged by this.

But to my issue.  I am not obsessive compulsive, but my first glance at the wall impelled me to move forward in my seat, intent on straightening that mess.  I am not afflicted with OCD.  But before I could rise, I saw that it was not just the stuff pinned to the wall, but horrors! it was the stuff attached to and built into the wall as well.  I am not anal retentive, but this sort of things drives me nuts.  Good thing I am not obsessive compulsive.

So then we had an hour-long chat with the doctor.  There is no dialysis in the immediate future, but there were some suggestions to improve the quality of life.  God bless physicians.

Before we left I had to snap this picture in an anteroom.  To someone's credit, there was a sign on the chair reading "Please do not sit in chair."

I showed the picture to BBBH and said, What is wrong with this picture?

She told me almost instantly.  My woman is not only beautiful, she is very observant.  Smart, too.

Watch your 'tude

I met upon the street today a man more feeble yet than I

He hobbled toward me, leaning on his cane

A broad smile upon his face and a twinkle in his eye.

I greeted him with a cheery, “Good morning, Mr. D!"

It’s good to meet you this morning in the lane

Your smile is bright as ever; that is good to see.”

“The surgeon says he will operate on my knee.”

“You’ve been a few times around the sun;

Your decision will the right one be.”

“I am eighty-seven now,” he said, “and I can

barely walk anymore, much less run.”

“May God bless you, and guide the doctor’s hand.”

He ambles on, I go my way

I am chastised within my heart

I’ve met an example today

By which to live; for he wears a grin

While I grumble with each dart

of pain. Now convicted: that is sin.

A merry heart doeth good like a medicine: but a broken spirit drieth the bones.

--Proverbs 17:22

Therefore to him that knoweth to do good, and doeth it not, to him it is sin.
James 4:17

Mrs. C Goes to Pueblo

 When I was a little boy, perhaps seven or eight years of age, our family was acquainted with a family who lived across town.  They occupied a fine old brick home not far from the river.  To my eye this was an elegant place, and it was beautifully decorated within as well with intricately crocheted antimacassars on the sofas and chairs, and tapestries on the walls.  Rich people, I thought.

 One day their household was bereft of the presence of its matriarch.  "She is away for a rest," it was explained to me.  Word, though, soon enough got around as kids whispered amongst themselves that Mrs. C was in Pueblo.  Now Pueblo in Southern Colorado was noted for two things: steel mills and the Colorado State Hospital, known as the Asylum for the Insane.  To say someone was "in Pueblo" was to say they were crazy, in the understanding of the children in the community.  "Is it true," I asked Mama, "that Mrs. C is crazy?"  "No!  Don't say that.  It is true that she is in Pueblo.  She had a nervous breakdown and she has gone there for treatment.  We are praying for her that she will get well soon."







Photo of Pueblo Asylum courtesy Denver Public Library

Several months passed.  One day the parents announced that Mrs. C was  home, and not long thereafter our family was invited to dinner in the C's home. I remember, little boy that I was, wondering what it would be like to be in the house with a crazy lady.  (See how kids think, or at least how this kid thought.)

Mrs. C was the gracious hostess.  She served us the dinner she had prepared and Mama's compliments on the china and crystal prompted the hostess to explain that they were heirlooms that had belonged to her grandmother.  After dinner, everyone sat in the drawing room and visited.  I recall seventy years later how Mrs. C unabashedly and without reticence related her experiences during her absence.  She recalled clearly the incidents leading up to the necessity for her visit to Pueblo as well as the treatment leading to recovery.  The hair tingled along the back of my neck.  Eerie.  How could someone go crazy, remember every detail, and come back home, seemingly normal, to tell about it?

You have to understand this tale from the perspective of a nine-year old, very naive kid.