The more interaction I have with the healthcare system in this country, the more surreal it becomes. No, I'm not going to go on a tirade about Obamacare, but I am for a single payer (I don't care if you do call it socialized medicine) system.
I've spent more time than I care for in hospital and doctor's waiting rooms while various procedures are done on my mom and now my boyfriend. What I've learned is that to get medical treatment you have to have an appetite and an appreciation for the surreal.
Today, the boyfriend is having a spinal tap. It's happening as I type this on Tyrone the BlackBerry. Here is just a taste of what we've experienced today:
We were led through the check in process by no less than 4 people. This was just to get name, date of birth and insurance. And yes, the boyfriend is insured with what most would call "good insurance," but this is still going to cost him over $1,000. I will leave it to you to draw your own conclusions about cost and number of people already involved at this early juncture.
From there, we were led to a proper hospital room by the senior member of the Lollipop Guild who hummed "Power in the Blood" as we walked down 6 hallways and took an elevator ride up 3 floors. She had a hearing aid that was of no use (likely due to her being closer to the floor than to anywhere sound might be emitting) and answered unintelligibly when we responded that we were doing fine, how was she?
And while we are on that tangent, let's have a brief discussion about how all people in the medical field greet you with "how are you?" The obvious answer, per social convention, is to just say "I'm fine," but that always seems misleading. I really wanted the boyfriend to say, "they're about to shove a 10 inch needle in my back while I'm perfectly awake and I've just gone on parade down hospital corridors only to land in a shared hospital room where I'm surrounded by people receiving chemo, so I'm a little frickin' freaked out right now, but seriously, how're the kids?"
We thought we were going to an outpatient center where we’d have a little prep room and then he’d be wheeled off to have the procedure. Instead, we were in a shared unit where an elderly man was also receiving something intravenously. However, that didn’t stop him from asking about why we were there and striking up uncomfortable conversation. Across the hall, we heard what sounded like someone giving birth. Later, we heard another man talking about his time working in the slaughterhouse.
We also got a new roommate after the first elderly man completed his round of whatever it was. This guy just wandered in, kicked off his shoes and jumped into the bed. After about 10 minutes he was greeted by a nurse who hooked him up to a few machines. Our new roommate appeared to be a frequent flyer and promptly asked for a soda and a bottle to piss in, “cuz I ain’t a gettin’ up that many times.”
Everything ended with test results pending for the boyfriend and instructions to return to the ER if he experienced any of the symptoms he went there seeking to find the cause of. So, we’re back home with him resting and me playing nurse. It’s a role I’m pretty familiar with and very comfortable playing. I’m more than glad to get food, adjust the pillows and make sure he keeps replenishing fluids. However, I refuse to bring him a bottle to piss in.
