It’s very thoughtful of the hospital to provide patients with all the comforts of home. Now that they’ve gone to single rooms only and you no longer have to share your cranky, disease-ridden space with another luckless idiot, electronica and staff must fill the roles of your loved ones.
1. The cats
We have cats. Three cats. Three cats who each have individual methods of guaranteeing fewer than three hours of unbroken sleep in a row on any given night.
2. The children
We have three children also. If they are not waking us up in the night for no reason, peeing in their beds, or coming down with ear infections, then they are waking up at the crack of dawn and unreasonably demanding entertainment and things to eat.
3. The dog
Just one dog, but as he advances in age, so does his somewhat iffy digestive system.
Here at General Hospital, we have:
1. The IV pump. Clickety clack. Gruuuuuumble. Clickety clack. Gruuuuuuumble. (Repeat rhythmically all day and all night)
2. The bed. When it’s not taxiing down the runway and revving up for takeoff, industrious metallic badgers are cleaving its landing gear off like bark from an elm. Whooooooosh! CHITTER CHITTER CHITTER! Whooooooosh! CHITTER CHITTER CHITTER! (Repeat all day and all night, but at random intervals)
(Wait — do badgers chew bark off elms?)
3. The nurses, CNAs, and other ancillary staff. Vital signs every four hours! Just here to check your IV pump! Replacing your bag of normal saline! Blood draw at 6am! I’m sure the startled gasp I greeted each and every one of them with won’t take a few minutes off all of our lives. What, do you want to live forever?!
With luck I’ll be discharged today. If not, at least I know my faithful companions will be here for me.