No, I'm not a doctor but...

Working in a hospital on a regular basis you see a huge slice of the fruits and nuts that make up the under done fruitcake called humanity. It goes without saying that most of the people walking in and out of the hospital doors are not there for happy reasons. Quiet and withdrawn people, lost in their own worries can be found nearly everywhere walking the halls seemly trying to forget why they are there. A smaller segment or people are there for more joyous reasons. The birth of a child, a final doctor’s visit to confirm the end of a long illness, or to have it confirmed no illness exists. The again there is an even smaller segment of people that appear to have the oddest reasons for walking hospital halls.

A couple of weeks ago I was coming out of surgery fully dressed out in hospital scrubs, paper surgical cap, and mask which was hanging loosely around my neck. Just a few minutes earlier I had just finished fixing a frustrating sterilizer dispelling several dark and disgruntled wraiths in the form of surgical nurses who instantly regained human form and behavior at the dinging of a little bell signaling the successful completion of a sterilization cycle in that particular unit. With the sterilizer that three separate operating rooms depended on up and running I collected my tools in my backpack and left the area eager for a break. Approaching the elevator foyer on that floor outside of surgery I noticed a rather large gaggle of people around the five elevators. This usually signified at least one of the units is down, or that vertical human traffic was so heavy it had simply backed up. While the elevators I was waiting for were primarily for staff both ambulatory patients and visitors were free to use them as well. Given the collection of actual bed bound patients, staff needing to be someplace quick, and visitors all waiting with me meant that for various reasons I had a low priority and would have to wait till most had cleared out.

Minutes began passing and whatever traffic jam issue that existed disappeared and even with new arrivals to the foyer the large group slowly began to clear out. Realizing that I still had the surgical mask hanging around my neck with it beginning to slightly bother me I walked over to a nearby trash can and ripped it off. It was then that I noticed three people at the edge of the foyer with two them studying me rather keenly. One was an older woman which looked to be in her late fifties or early sixties, the second was a much younger woman in her thirties, and the third person was a little boy sitting in a stroller whose attention was completely absorbed in what I recognized to be the latest toy afforded in the Burger Clown’s kid’s meal. The ladies were saying something to each other that given their direction of gaze more than likely had to be about me. While I was wearing scrubs over my work clothes self consciously I found myself checking to see if my pant’s zipper was down. There were still a few people left in the foyers so I just assumed I was wrong, that their attention was on someone else and just began waiting again. However, I couldn’t help but notice that after the last elevator doors closed with ample room for at least them they were still waiting along with me.

Small talk is not one of my talents in the best of times and at that moment I didn’t have the frame of mind to do anything but smile and say hello as I looked up and noticed that indeed their gaze was upon me again. The conversational ice ended up being broken not by them or me but by the little boy who for some reason threw his toy across what was now the empty foyer.

“Here you go buddy,” I said after walking over and getting his little toy since it landed close to where I was standing. The boy, about four or five, just smiled took the toy and giggled a little.

“Say thank you to the nice man Sean, for getting your little car.” The younger lady said who I soon learned was the boy’s mother and was named Sara. On closer examination I could tell Sara was in her early thirties, wearing jeans and what I’ve been told at times was a peasant blouse that was loose fitting and low cut enough to show more than a suggestion of ample bosom. Her hair was strawberry blond cut at neck level that framed a friendly and open face nicely but her most attractive feature were her eyes that were sharp blue. While she was far from being magazine model appealing her demeanor in both her attitude and appearance made her very attractive to me. She and I easily began talking about her boy Sean, which in turn allowed me to open up a story about both my kids Darth Spoilboy and Miss Wiggles.

All the while I couldn’t help but notice the older lady who Sara said was her mother kept examining me like a scientist watched a lab rat that had just been injected with some experimental serum that would either turn the rat into a prince or kill it. But as I spoke most of my attention was on how Sara whose face seemed completely enthralled in the story about Wiggles I was telling which at the same time I noticed she had brought her hand up to the exposed part of her cleavage and appeared to be absentmindedly stroking the lowest part visible and slightly under her blouse. It didn’t take a trained drama critic to understand that Sara’s was acting to a great extent but I have to admit that from my position I was enjoying both the attention and show going on between us.

Several times an elevator arrived at our location but was allowed to precede empty since Sara, Sean, silent unnamed mom, and myself were enjoying ourselves and our little tête-à-tête. As little Sean began a long, drawn out story about his little doggy at home I began wondering what the hell these people were actually up to, I had a suspicion but I discounted it, since the two adults were in no hurry to leave. I would have liked to ask who they were here for but hospital privacy regulations pretty much have the authority from God forbidding such inquires. After the conversation began to lag I figured it was time to leave and I wasn’t surprised to find the three joining me in the elevator. Sara was adding even more over done astonishment and ersatz delight in anything I said as the ride down to the basement began. Finally I saw some sort of slight touch from the mother that ever so slightly changed the tenor of our encounter.

“What kind of doctor do you happen to be?” Sara suddenly asked as the elevator slowed to pick up someone on the first floor.

“Doctor,” I chuckled, “no sorry, I’m a biomed technician here at the hospital. Why do you ask?”

“Biomed technician?” She parroted back slightly confused with a stern look appearing on unnamed mom standing behind her. “What do they do?”

“Oh, I work on sterilizers, surgical tables, and lights. It’s pretty interesting and keeps me busy.”

“So you’re telling me you wear doctor’s outfits and carry around a doctor’s bag and you are not a doctor?” She mentioned my tool backpack that I had been carrying the entire time.

“No, sorry I’m just a glorified wrench turner at times.” I replied seeing the disappointment on Sara’s face.

Unnamed mom clearly tapped Sara on the arm and with the elevator doors conveniently opening to the first floor Sara’s face went completely blank and she pushing the stroller with Sean inside and unnamed mom beat a very hasty exit out.

Just last Thursday as I was walking out of neonatal intensive care after helping one of my co-workers I saw Sara, Sean, and unnamed mom at the elevators again. Using the concealment of a linen trolley sitting in the hallway I saw Sara showing intense interest in some story one of the residents was telling her. Sean was sitting quietly in the stroller playing with some small toy and surprisingly unnamed mom had a huge grin on her face. I guess that she knew they had snagged a prince this time. No, I didn’t present myself or say anything; the young doctor is on his own.

Labor and Delivery soap opera

A whole host of alligators have crawled out of the swamps these last couple of days making for some very tiresome days at both work and home. So, I’ve been in something of a mental and physical funk that I’ve had a devil of a time shaking off. After some really hectic days at work that just never seemed would end I’ve sat down at home several times over the last week to try and write something only to have another crisis erupt pulling me away from my place and leaving too tired, frustrated, or both to write anything coherent. However, today at work a strange, maybe bizarre circumstance developed that was at least for me was very memorable.

Comedians of many different stripes have used the gimmick of a very upset and pregnant woman bringing down verbal hellfire and brimstone on her poor husband as she pushes something the size of a small watermelon through a much, much smaller opening. The hypothetical husband usually has to just smile and be supportive of his suffering wife no matter what insults or family secrets his wife exposes to those around them in the delivery room. It’s just that hospital security usually doesn’t have to make an appearance.

I normally work on sterilizers, surgical tables and lights along with pinch hitting on other equipment. So today when I was asked to help one of my co-workers repair one of the high-tech hospital beds that almost does everything including allowing the patient to manage their stock portfolio I was glad to help. My co-worker Robert and I entered the delivery room early this morning with the expectant mom in the malfunctioning bed, the expectant dad sitting next to her, and his mom and dad sitting on the couch in the room. All concerned at that moment were happy smiles waiting for the baby who according to the doctors was rushing to greet the world. It was still the very early stages of the birth and the bed the mom was laying decided not to obey any commands from the hand controller. At some point the bed was going to have to be raised and stirrups installed so the mom and baby could be more easily managed so the bed had to be working correctly. The nifty thing about the bed was that it was so high-tech that a little LCD screen at the foot was actually telling us what was wrong so even a monkey could repair the thing. Robert and I chatted with the family as he and I removed a few panels, fished around for the proper connector, then reconnected it to the proper circuit board and tested the bed. I found then basically country folks since the biggest topic of discussion involved the approaching deer hunting season and how the expectant dad and grandfather would still be in the deer stand that first day even with a new baby back home. The soon-to-be grandmother was all grins through this segment of the conversation but I did notice a sour look on the new mom laying in the bed. After the bed was fixed Robert and I retreated out of the room and went our separate ways.

Several hours later in the day I returned to the Labor and Delivery department to perform some preventive maintenance checks on the surgical lights in the room right next to the one Robert and I had repaired the bed in. The intervening hours had brought a huge difference in the family situation that had existed that morning. At first I noticed that several other family members had arrived waiting in the small waiting room nearby. When I entered the room next door to do my checks I could hear the screams of the expectant mother and figured she must have either forgone the epidural or had the misfortune to have it wear off too soon. She was calling the expectant dad every name in the book along with declaring that he would never ever touch her again. I admit that I cringed when I heard her tell what had to be the doctor and nurse in the room that her husband’s penis was so small that she didn’t even have a good time getting pregnant in the first place. After a few minutes the expectant mom became quiet and I figured she was between contractions but I continued to hear voices although I was generally unable to make out what was being said. I hurried as quickly as possible to finish what I needed to do knowing that when the next wave struck the expectant mom was sure to fare up as well.

Just as I was collecting my stuff I could hear the next wave of contractions begin as the mom began to scream. The expectant mom once again started tearing into her husband and while I left the room and entered the hallway I was prevented from leaving by another nurse who stopped me and wanted to wait at the nurse’s station as she went to retrieve a part she wanted me to order for her. The nurse’s station was just a few feet away from both the room I was in and the room with the highly upset mom so I was still getting an earful of what was going on.
The other members of the family including what I would soon learn were the expectant dad’s brother and sister-in-law and the expectant mom’s father were in the small waiting area along with the expectant dad’s parents who had never left. As I waited at the nurse’s station trying to ignore all the commotion along with the other nurses who seemed more amused over what was going on the sister-in-law jumped up saying she would stick her head in the room to try and help. She had not gone two feet in the room when the laboring mom exploded asking who the hell asked her to come inside. I heard the sister-in-law say something to the effect that she just wanted to see if she could relieve the abused dad. While I will not swear what I heard next was an exact quote, it’s damn close.

“Help me?” the laboring mom screamed. “Your son of a bitch husband may actually be the one who put me in this position.”

It was then that all the nurses at the station jumped up as one and rushed for the waiting area and the delivery room. One had the presence of mind to yell further down the hall for a nearby security officer as I made a hasty retreat out of the area. I noticed the commotion increased in volume enough for me to hear small bits as the big automatic doors of the department closed behind me. Personally I had heard enough of that soap opera.

The Joys of Plumbing and Marriage.

After several days suffering from one of the worst stomach bugs ever to hit the family the worst is finally over. Tried writing something current but nothing is really working and my son Darth Spoilboy is absolutely dying to get to his MySpace account. So here is a recently discovered artifact from my last blog which was one of my first posts.

It started last night, "Honey", my wife called. Well, she didn't say honey but I prefer not to write the word she actually said. "You need to check the kid’s toilet, it’s stopped up again." What she really meant was for me to grab the plumber’s helper and go unblock the toilet that either my son or more than likely, in her eyes, I had messed up. She had been in a bad mood the last couple of days and I had got to the point where I felt it was best just to stay quiet and ride this hurricane out. So I grabbed the plumber’s friend and marched off to do my husbandly duty.

Details at this point are better left out but there was nothing I could do. The clog was not going anywhere and so I told my female Hitler, I mean my lovely bride, that this was not the usual situation and that I would have to go to the local Mega-Hardware store and buy a plumbing snake. My hunch was that our little girl had flushed one of her small toys down the toilet but it was Wednesday night and Lost was about to start and I did not want to talk about it anymore. Someone was supposed to get killed that night and I did not want to miss finding out who it was.
The next morning I was off to the local Mega-Hardware store to purchase a drain snake and a new wax ring for the toilet if it turned out that I would need a Plan B. The great thing about the mega stores is the choices you have. The bad thing is that no matter how much the commercials say that they have a knowledgeable staff I usually only meet those who were rejected for employment by fast food places. I walked to the row that held the plumbing supplies and found the section that held devices that I hoped would free up the blockage that I was fighting without me taking the entire throne apart. My issue was that several of the drain snakes were different sizes and appeared to be designed for different applications. Now according to my wife, during better days, and several girlfriends I had in the past I never ever had a size issue and I always have been good at different applications but that is a whole other subject. But since I did not want to cause a bigger problem I needed to know which one was right for home use. But the sales associate who worked in the plumbing section looked at me with the deer-in-headlights look when I asked which one of the drain snakes were right for a simple residential toilet. Well, when in doubt always punt, so she pulled out the fancy cell phone and called someone. After several minutes of saying a lot single word responses to apparent questions on the other end of the conversation she grabbed what looked to be a dildo off the shelf and handed it to me. She explained that one end of this device would be attached to a common water hose and then the device should be pushed down the toilet until it meets the blockage. Then, she continues to explain, you turn the water on and the device would expand and a high pressure water spray would come out from the opposite end of where you screwed on the water hose. Supposedly, this would be the most effective way of removing the blockage. I told her once again that the blockage was more than likely a child's toy but she assured me that the "plumbing expert" she talked with said this item was right for the job. I almost bought her advice and the item. But as she was walking away I happen to look on the back of the package and clearly saw the instructions that read that this item was not to be used on toilets. Visions of exploding toilets and the aftermath of such played out in my mind very clearly. I tossed the dildo looking item back on the shelf, grabbed my drain snake, and a new wax ring so I could move straight to Plan B if needed and paid for my stuff and left for home.

The drain snake is a fairly simple device, on one end is what looks to be a corkscrew for a wine bottle and on the other end is a piece that you turn to get the snake to expand down the hole basically, with it fully retracted you push it into the hole and start to turn. In theory at least at some point the corkscrew end should encounter the blockage and then, I guess, it either breaks up or as you turn it to retract again you will pull it out. My first attempt netted some...no let’s not go there. Let’s just say that after two attempts I pull out next to nothing and on the third I got the damn thing caught and for thirty minutes I could not pull it out. At that time I gave up and began working just to remove it from the toilet. About the time I started thinking of just buying and whole new toilet the snake broke free and I began preparing myself for Plan B.
Jumping ahead after removing the "water" from the toilet I removed the tank and carefully placed it inside the bathtub the base was removed and I moved it outside to begin the really disgusting part.

By this time of day the morning walkers were out. An older couple walked past my house as I was bringing the base out and could not help but to make a couple comments. Their comments were meant to be funny but I was not in the mood. The only reason it bothered me was by this time I was tired and slightly smelly. Knowing this prevented me from tossing water from the toilet on their cute, matching jogging suits. But getting back to business I figured whatever was jammed in the toilet was wedged very tightly so I took the water hose and pushed it up from the bottom with the water turned on. Right from the start I was able to push the water hose up to where I could feel the obstruction. The water hose was stiff enough that I could push it up but unlike the dildo that the Mega-Hardware store associate tried to sale me I did not have to worry about the damn toilet cracking. I finally felt that I was going to make some progress. So I started gently thrusting more and more with the water hose hoping that it would fall out. Ignoring the world around me I started saying things like "yeah baby" and "I know you’re ready". It was at this time that I looked up and saw the neighborhood divorcee walking past looking straight at me and laughing. This is a woman who any man would more than likely sell his soul to be with, she is that drop dead glorious. She has always been very friendly towards me but has never given me any hint that she might be interested in me but having her see me like that was very embarrassing. Maybe, you could say that I saw all my secret fantasies being flushed down the toilet.

Looking back on this whole event I realize that compared to other more serious problems this was very minor. But given that my wife had been on the warpath lately and she had been leaving very long "honey do" lists that had damn well better be finished when she returns home taking all day to fish out a child toy in a toilet that had just been installed three months ago was a major pain in the ass. But right after the divorcee walked by I looked down to find that my daughter's small Spongebob Squarepants toy had fallen out of the toilet. I cleaned up and reinstalled the toilet without any further adventures. I then called my bride at work to tell her about all this. My lovely wife's opinion of my handling of the situation was, as expected, full of criticisms of how I could have done everything quicker. But of course when she returned home and was talking on the phone, deep in conversation to one of her knitting class girlfriends, I laid the newly freed Spongebob close by and she quickly picked it up absent-mindedly playing with it. It actually took twenty seconds before she realized I hadn't cleaned it off. The reaction on her face when she realized why Spongebob was so sticky made up for the rest of the day. Now, a couple of weeks later and after we have made up I can laugh about the whole thing.