"Welcome to Local Affiliated Frenzied Facility! " (Known in the trade as LAFF.) "And why are you here?" "Duh, because my doctor thinks I'm sick!"
"Did you bring your insurance cards, your living will, your power of attorney, your health care directive, and your last hope with you?" Right now one begins to have doubts that 'they' expect patients to recover!
Having duly registered and having signed your life into their hands you will be rolled onto an elevator and whisked to your room. You will invariably be placed in the bed closest to the hall door and the curtain will be drawn between your bed and your 'roomie's' bed. This effectively cuts off any view out the window, but that seems to be the plan!
After transferring from street clothes into hospital garb, you realize that you are going to accomplish a long-held desire. You can moon anyone who upsets you!
"Here is your call button with t.v., bed light, and nurse buttons. Your bed adjustments are on the frame of the bed." Oh, good, you will have something at your command! Never mind that the call button slips down to the floor and is unreachable. Never mind that your roommate watches the soaps at maximum volume.
Nurses, technicians, aides, and maintenance personnel are given lessons in how to position your furniture. Your telephone will be placed on your bedside table just beyond fingertip reach so that you cannot answer it! Your supplied hygiene products will be placed in a cabinet behind you. You are a prisoner shackled by i.v.s and barricaded by retractable bed sides that you cannot retract! Rots of ruck!
Meal time provides a welcome break. Of course, your tray is just under your chin, but that reduces the dribbles. The kitchen staff makes one huge pot of gruel. By putting in different food coloring, you are deceived into thinking that you certainly have a variety of food! No wonder everything tastes the same.
After a few days, one learns to scoot down in the bed, maneuver the tubing over the foot of the bed, reach behind the bed to unplug a couple of things, gather up all the loose ends, and go walking the halls with the i.v. stand for stability! You even learn to grab assorted loose ends of the gown to stop the breezes. An unauthorized, unescorted walk is a taste of freedom!
To make sure that you have not expired, various people take your 'vitals.' Blood, respiration, blood pressure, pulse rate, temp, lung sounds, stomach sounds, even weight every 4 hours. If one wishes to avoid having a thermometer jammed into soft mouth tissue, eat ice chips on schedule.
The anti-embolism stockings and leg cuffs are a thrill. As tingling, creeping pressure alternates on one's legs one cannot help but recall similar sensations.
"You're free to go home!" Oh, joyous words! Obviously, the hospital staff has taken better care of you than you realized. Zap! Out come the i.v.s . A skip (albeit it a slow, cautious walk) to the bathroom to put on street clothes. "Free at last. Free at last."