Whatever Doesn't Kill You Makes You Stronger

All this talk about health care reform and yet, not a single line of the new health care bill is dedicated to the most important issue facing Americans today—hospital food. The house and senate have put together this monstrous package of legalese and yet they leave out something as critical as this? I tell you, it is enough to make me lose my faith in government. I for one am not going to stand for this. I have put together my own set of issues that need to be lobbied. Join with me and take a stand against the tragedy that has corrupted U.S. hospitals for generations—the chow.

I have only had to stay in the hospital a few times, and each time that I break out of there I am glad to get away; mostly because I am starving. On one extended stay I had my sister sneak in Cinnabon cinnamon rolls and dare I say, had she not brought me sustenance I would still be in that hospital today. Too weak and depleted to make my bed sheet into a rope and hang it out the window for my escape.

Not all the hospital food is bad, just the stuff they serve to the patients. If you are a patient you may be asking yourself: what have I done to deserve this? Or, why me? Or, why is my nurse/doctor trying to kill me? These are all legitimate questions, and trust me, you are not alone. There are more of us. Those of us who have refused to eat gummy oatmeal or soupy cream of wheat, or that inedible concoction known as goulash that sits in your colon stagnating for days trying to decide if it will use the entrance or exit to get out of your body. We hear your cries; there is no need to suffer alone. After all, you have a telephone in the room, phone a friend and cry to them.

Ok, so you may have other questions, like why is all hospital food the same temperature? The nurse will bring you a little tray and whip the lid off as if to say “Ta-Da!” Only to serve you a thimble of apple juice (with saran wrap over the top) and a cup of broth (other-wise known as a bullion cube floating in tap water) and both items are the same temperature—78 degrees. I know that something can be done about this. Hospital staff can take a picture of the brain, remove miscellaneous organs, and reattach limbs--surely they can refrigerate juice and microwave soup.

It says something when the hospital’s competition is school cafeterias, airplane food, and prison rations. I have tasted fresher MRE’s that my uncle brought back from Vietnam than the meals I received while on an extended stay in the infirmary. One thing that would really improve the quality of provisions at the hospital is to go for the real stuff. No more powdered potatoes, no more powdered eggs, no more powdered soup. And for the love of all that is holy, just say ‘no’ to mystery meat. No one knows what mystery meat is, not even the chef, and as patients we just want something we can describe easily to the life-insurance people. Is that too much to ask?

If you ask people, what word comes to mind when you say hospital food? Most of them will say Jell-O, Jell-O, and more Jell-O. Is Jell-O even a food? It can’t even be classified as a liquid or a solid so how can it be put in the category of food? And what the hospital does to it makes it worse. For example, carrots in Jell-O is a crime against humanity. No one is going to eat more veggies just because you cover it in gelatinous substance and call it dessert. People all over the country are hi-jacking wheelchairs to make their getaway from hospital Jell-O. I am patently against any food that resembles phlegm. This includes, but is not limited to: tapioca, mussels, clams, tofu, cooked spinach, oysters, and of course, Jell-O.

A few more things we need to address at the hospital cafeteria: Dinner rolls should not be able to double as weapons, gravy should not be neon green, and roast beef should be easily identifiable. Foods that look like they have already been eaten and regurgitated should be taken off the menu. If you cannot easily recognize the food on your plate, there is a problem. It makes you wonder if you were really sick when you checked in or if the food is making you that way. Did they, or did they not, take an oath to ‘first do no harm?’ The food is supposed to be dead, not me. At least doctors get those little hermetically sealed sandwiches cut into triangles with the contents visible and labeled on a sticker. At the very least, I want to eat what the doctors are eating, because they are not as expendable as patients.

When a friend of mine was in the sickbay recently they served her lentil loaf. If you have never seen anything as exotic as lentil loaf before let me give you a mental picture--imagine meatloaf with gangrene. That was the meal my friend was served at the hospital on her birthday. It turns out, both her and the lentil loaf were the same age. Seeing that concoction on her lunch tray gave me the urge to dial 911. When she prayed for lunch, it was less like saying grace and more like a request for mercy.

Another question I have for the hospital lunch lady: Why does all hospital food taste the same? Whether you have the turkey sandwich or the tomato soup it all tastes like a mixture of Lysol and medical waste. Forget about where’s the beef, I want to know where the salt is? Let’s get crazy in that hospital kitchen and add some seasoning. Additionally, food should not make sounds. When you move a fork across your plate, the food should not make a noise like it is still alive . . . and suffering. Food should not make a slurping, sloshing, or wheezing clatter. In fact, I am pretty sure it should not talk to you at all.

What I think they need is a hospital mini-bar. Although you would have to remind visitors not to eat from the mini-bar, because a Kit-Kat would cost you $27 and a Dr. Pepper would probably be around $85. However, that is the same price hospitals charge for a box of tissue and those little plastic water pitchers that you “get” to take home with you, so really it is a bargain. Hospitals could even fill the mini-bar with food that is good for you, like fresh fruit and granola. Also in the self-serve section should be those pain medication pumps. You could choose the medicine you want to drip into your IV. Hook me up to one of those and I will stop complaining about the food, I’d be down like a water buffalo hit by a tranquilizer dart. In conclusion, I think that sums up what we all want during a hospital stay, less food and more drugs.

What's up Doc?

Why is it that people think medical doctors are so perfect? I go to the doctor and tell him that something hurts and then he pokes me in that spot and says, “You mean here?” I think that is a little sadistic. It is like he has all this power and is trying to decide if he should use it for good or evil. And do I say anything to him, like maybe “Hey cut that out” or a “No I am not going to tell you how much I weigh.” No. No, I do not. Why? Because that little piece of paper on the wall that says PhD is like Kryptonite, it keeps me from disagreeing with him. I am powerless against his years of residency and his stethoscope. It is like he is not even human but a higher form of life that can only unlock the secrets to good health with a full-coverage medical plan and an 80-20 deductible.

Everyone says you should ask for a second opinion if you are unsure of the diagnosis, but what good does that do? It makes no sense to go and ask a second doctor, that I am also afraid of, if he thinks his peer is right or wrong. That is like asking a nurse to be gentle when she is inserting a catheter—there is no point.

Recently I was accosted by my doctor for not putting my sons in cub scouts. She gave me and my children a 20 minute lecture on why we should participate in the historic outdoorsy club. Why you ask? I have no idea. Does she know someone that works for the cub scouts? I couldn’t say. Does she get kick-backs from the BSA? Not sure. Is she crazy? More than likely.

Even though this particular doctor over-stepped some boundaries, I sat there like an idiot and didn’t say a word. It was like listening to your parents tell you how disappointed they are in you; you are still in the room but you are mentally dozing in and out of consciousness. Regardless, the conversation made me think of what it would take for me to stand up to my doctor. So, I came up with a list of things that if a physician said to me would really push me over the edge. I came up with 50 things that I would not want to hear from my doctor and would finally force me to put my foot down.

1. Wow, I have never seen one that looks like that before.
2. I’ve decided to do my part to save the environment, so I won’t be using tongue depressors any more. Instead, I am just gonna stick my finger in there.
3. Did anybody see where did I put that last sponge?
4. I got my PhD from Phoenix online.
5. Does this white coat make my butt look fat?
6. Now, is the heart on the right or the left, I always forget?
7. Can you hold on just a second, I have to update my Facebook status?
8. Wow, has anyone ever told you that you have crazy-weird eyes?
9. Have you made your peace with God? Do you have a will? Am I in it?
10. How did my watch get in there?
11. Pull my finger.
12. I have had three espressos today and I feel a little jittery. But don’t worry; I am totally ready to do your vasectomy.
13. How good is your insurance coverage? Like, new boat good, or like new RV good?
14. Do you mind if these students come in to watch your procedure? They have never seen electric shock therapy before.
15. My last patient was such a nice woman, God rest her soul.
16. I used to work at the prison giving lethal injections.
17. Oh boy that was close; your name was one letter off from the guy next door getting a sex change.
18. Just count back from 100, I can almost guarantee, you won’t feel a thing.
19. I just don’t know if I can be a doctor anymore, I have decided to become an artist.
20. Who farted?
21. Get undressed and put on this little paper gown. No, I don’t really need you to undress for this exam; I just wanted to see if you would.
22. That third bean burrito I had for lunch has my intestines feeling like a ticking time bomb!
23. We are required by law to tell you that your anesthesiologist is a registered sex offender.
24. Have you looked up your symptoms using WebMD? What did it say I should do?
25. Our practice is going green; please excuse the stains on the paper sheet.
26. I tried this medication on my dog and he woke up after only a few days. He was a little groggy, but mostly fine.
27. Would you mind holding this scalpel for just a sec? I have an itch.
28. My favorite movies are Saw I, Saw II, and Saw III.
29. Sorry I look a little disheveled; I have been living out of my car.
30. Dude, I feel like I am gonna puke.
31. May I interest you in an exam room cocktail?
32. I like to use alternative therapies when I can. How do you feel about leeches?
33. That Dr. Seuss totally cracks me up!
34. Do you think I look better as a blonde or a brunette?
35. Have I ever showed you a picture of my cat? He’s my baby.
36. I will be with you in just a minute, I need to smoke a cigarette and finish this beer and box of donuts.
37. Hey, you wanna shock each other with these paddles?
38. Does my breath smell like potato salad to you?
39. Oops! Well, don’t worry, I can reattach that. I think.
40. Our office is trying to be more efficient, so we put a coin-operated medication dispenser in the lobby.
41. Can I tell you about the troubles I am having with my boyfriend? I really need to talk.
42. You should check out my you tube video, in it I am playing “If you want my body” by Rod Stewart, on the clarinet, with my nose. I have gotten 50,000 hits so far.
43. I’ve got an idea, let’s get matching tattoos!
44. Buck up and come back when you’ve got a real problem.
45. Text me your symptoms and I’ll tweet you my diagnosis.
46. I don’t even know how to pronounce what it is that you have.
47. I am also a Mary Kay consultant, so with your exam, you get a free make-over.
48. Can I have a sample of your hair for my collection?
49. I don’t believe in diseases or illness. I believe in Karma. Your chakra is blue and your aura is red, so go home, light up some incense and think calming thoughts.
50. Your heart goes bu-du-bu-du-bu-du, but mine goes ba-bump-ba-bump-ba-bump. Freaky.

Well, I hope your physician hasn’t said any of these things to you. It is a new year and we should start with a clean slate, with hope for a better tomorrow. If your doctor does say strange things to you tell them to stop. After all, a doctor is just a person like you and me. They get up in the morning and put their pants on one leg at a time. They are way more expensive pants, and they get dressed in a huge master closet with a little seat thing and don’t have to balance holding on to a rickety bed frame, and the whole house probably smells like potpourri, and their pants are probably ironed and clean, and not grabbed from a pile on the floor, but they get dressed. Just like you. Just like me. And that is my point.

Can You See Me Now?

Without my contacts I cannot see. I am, according to the law, blind. I have tried many methods to improve my vision in times of contact-less-ness. I have tried, like a bat, to make high-pitched squealing sounds and have them bounce off of objects, but since my hearing is also bad, I cannot hear the sounds bounce back and just walk into walls and chairs anyway. I would wear glasses but I have a depth-perception problem . . . objects may be closer than they appear . . . or further away. I cannot tell the difference. I offer the bumper of my car as evidence.

I have worn Gas Permeable contacts for 20 years or so, and am mostly used to the troubles that come with using them. They slide up onto the top of my eyeball and get lost. I try and maneuver them back into position but while they are floating all around in my eye they are like little evil plastic shards trying to slice through my cornea. When the wind blows the tiniest bit of dust feels like barbed wire rubbing against my retina.

Not being able to see well is a problem. People will often wave to me on the street and I have no idea who they are, or what they are doing. They could be having a seizure for all I know, I can’t see them. People smile at me across a room as a greeting, I can’t see them either. Somebody will make foul gestures at me in traffic, ha ha the jokes on them; I can’t see ‘em.

People will ask me, “Are you near-sighted or far-sighted?” The answer is ‘I don’t know.’ I am confused, is it near-sighted that can see near or can see far? That is the eye doctor’s job to remember those kinds of details. He is always trying to tell me stuff about my eyes, things that are supposedly important but have no meaning to me. He tells me I have rounded corneas and astigmatism with myopia and for that little bit of info he would like $400 please.

Everyone keeps trying to convince me to have laser surgery. You know the one where they take a claw-like apparatus to hold open your eyelids so that a laser can burn a flap around the eye and shape your retina by burning it off? Then they send you home, more blind than when you came in, armed with nothing more than a little bottle of eye-drops so that the little flap doesn’t shrivel up and fall off completely. What I want to know is what if the laser is bumped during surgery? Like because the doctor sneezes or something? I guess I have always had that one eyebrow that requires a lot of tweezing—maybe they could take care of that while they are burning off other parts of my body.

Now there are all these price wars for Lasik surgery. How low is too low to go before you are having your eye surgery done in the back room of a dimly lit 7-11 located just off the freeway by some guy named Rhubarb; who performs the entire operation with a magnifying glass and a flash-light? I say if the price is so low that you can pay in rolls of quarters then it is probably not the place to go. Also, if they answer the phone “Bubba’s Gas and Go, Exotic Tattoo Parlor and Lasik Surgery Center” then that is also a potential red flag. One more tip, if your “nurse” has a wallet on a chain, wears a dog collar, a Metallica t-shirt, combat boots and is named Mike-the-Spike, then just back right out the door. Trust me.

No matter where you go, you should expect a certain level of professionalism too. When I went in for my surgery the only thing Rhubarb said to me was, “Hold still. I am almost out of batteries.” Other than that little bit of conversation, my “doctor” was all business and told me it would take 7-10 weeks to see the results. Well, it has been 10 weeks and I can see that my checkbook is $200 lighter and I have almost fully recovered from my fear of Mag lights. I can’t say that I can actually see better, but I have stopped complaining about my contacts and the costs associated with licensed physicians.

I guess if I ever want better vision I will just have to squint more. Otherwise, it is back to the drawing board, or should I say . . . the cutting board.