Things that make you go OWWWWWWWWWW!

Good day to ya!

It is finally time to start fulfilling my “bucket list” of items to do in my checkered lifetime. My aspirations of pitching for the Cardinals MAY be a little out of my reach now, but I still have time for my main ambition: to become the Chief Lord of Time, Space and Motion. Also to write a blog. This is it. Please read it at your leisure. Leave me a comment or two.

Below is a little something I wrote last Friday – how was YOUR weekend?

So, it's Friday morning and Himself is checking his Email and thinking about adding to the play he's writing, when the ring finger and pinkie of his left hand lose sensation and kinda droop around, leaving him without his usual pianolike dexterity--something like slapping a pancake on the laptop keys. The Maher goes to She Who Must Be Obeyed and tells her--in a VERY calm tone of voice--that something is kinda wrong. He does this so that SWMBO doesn't jump up with eyes like saucers and yell '"Omigod! TIA! and calls every doctor and hospital in creation (I'll explain about a TIA in a minute--are you still there? Good.) I'm very proud of SWMBO, who calmly showers and dresses as I dress using one hand, then we go to the spankin' new ER at the Spankin' new Mansfield Methodist Med Center. They see me right away (!) and it's not too long until I'm in examination room 3, where a physician's assistant diagnoses the problem. To make a long story short, I end up in the spankin' new MMMC room 309 for observation.

And thereby hangs the story of THINGS YOU LEARN (TO YOUR COST) AT THE HORSE PISTOL:

Since they suspect that I've had a TIA or transischemic attack--the onset of a stroke--I get every test known to man or animal at the MMMC: EKG, EEG, MRI, BBW, BMW, BFD, the whole thang. While under observation (the nurse's station has a window with a blind on it so that you're literally under observation), I discover the following, which I dutifully share with you the reader:Men, shave every hair on your body before coming to the hospital. Don't ask questions, just do it. Trust me. Remember Steve Carrell getting the chest wax in THE FORTY YEAR OLD VIRGIN? Um hummm. I thought you would.If you are needing a good rest, the hospital is the LAST place you want to be. In the 18 hours I was under observation, I was awakened 9 times by nurses with needles, BP cuffs, probes, and other instruments of medicinal torture. And only one of them was cute. Her name is Keri, and she's a tech. Everybody else looked like Aunt Esther from SANFORD AND SON.

Remember the old days when you could fly on an airplane and get a real dinner? You can't do that any more, can you? It's because the people (ARAMARK) who supply high school cafeterias and airlines with cardboard sustenance have moved to the hospital arena. My very favorite on the menu was the Chef's Salad--without meat, cheese or egg. WTF! You might as well say "lceberg lettuce leaf with inedible dressing." I am not kidding about this. I'm a cook, and a good one, and even I know how to prepare a healthful lo-cal, lo-carb meal without making it taste like packing peanuts.

If you are awakened at dawn by a nurse that is not named Keri, and when she asks you a question, DO NOT AUTOMATICALLY ANSWER IN THE AFFIRMATIVE. Take a moment, get orientated, wipe the sleep out of your eyes, and listen closely to the question, paying close attention to the words "enema" and "vasectomy". Otherwise, some verrrrrrry uncomfortable things will ensue.Ask someone, preferably your "Executive Meal Hostess" (I am not kidding about this), where you can find some coffee. They will tell you, and it's usually the waiting room lounge. There you will find a Douwe Egbert's coffee maker, the Mother of All Senseo Machines, which will dispense glorious Columbian or Espresso (!), and you can wire yourself so tightly that when you get a blood test they'll think you've been free-basing in your room.

DO NOT actually free-base in your room. There are great honkin' tanks of OXYGEN in there, dummy.

Tell EVERYONE that you want to go home. It worked for Dorothy, it worked for The Maher, and it will work for you.The hospital is one place where you can be a complete dillweed and get away with it. As I was leaving, nay running, to the car, Keri said "thanks for being such a great patient. You're very rare around here." If someone like ME gets a compliment like that, that means they must be used to legions of Idi Amins at the MMMC.So that's it--I'm back at home, I didn't have a stroke, I had a neurological hiccup that could be related to my shoulder surgery. Most of my body remains intact after the MMMC got done with it.

Now we need a month's stay at the rest home for SWMBO. Maybe we'll ask Keri to take care of her. Or Aunt Esther.