There are some surprising things that I learned about the hospital this weekend. (Lessons that no one wants to learn)
A funny leftover: I have lots of snaps on my body. Adhesive snaps. We are joking about what we should snap on and off of them. They really hurt to pull off, and so I've had enough pulling and prodding, since I am not making a fashion statement right now, I'm just leaving them. Me and my snaps are hunched on the couch.
There is one amenity that is offered in an ER that should be adopted by the Ritz. In sharp contrast to the austire surroundings, they offer one "spa-like" treatment. If you say "I'm cold" in the ER , they open up a special warming oven that was kept at 156 degrees, and pull out a warmed flannel blanket, bring it over, and cover you up. It was so comforting and wonderful. (This is something that should NOT be tried at home. )
When I woke up in a bed, I turned my head to the side, and I tried to read all of the things that were written on the side of this bed. It was a hospital bed, of course, and therefore, adjustable. The funny thing is, at this point, the last thing I wanted to do was to move, anything. In addition to the instructions for the bed itself, there was a little extra sticker. I focused my eyes, not knowing if it was too dark, or I was not quite off the anestesia. The little sticker came into focus and it said "Call Homer" and gave a scrawled phone number. I loved that sticker. Who ever Homer is, he could in fact help anyone who was willing to call him. Should I be filled with hope? Or should I be scared by the fact that no one removed the note between patients? And who is named "Homer". What an unlikely name. Would "call Dave" be better?
That's okay. I 'called Rob'. I hope Homer and his people are doing well.