February has been a little stressful. It brought a car accident - nobody hurt - just a slide off a snowy road and friendly telephone pole greeting. Somebody got wet feet and then a head cold, tromping around Point Pelee with leaky boots. I've been driving around Violinist's smarty pants car which lately has been a little balky, creating some uncertainty, particularly when sputtering along North America's busiest highway.
There were visits utilizing the Canadian Health Care System (bow down and kiss the earth) and tests canceled after hours sitting in public, while attired in jaunty spring-blue gown and matching reversible, deep mint-mist wrap robe, long sleeves demurely gathered at the wrist in soft elastic cuff - this, day-look completed with OR booties in baby sky. (And Von Furstenberg thinks she invented the wrap dress.) I think searching for the elusive Mother of the Groom dress is beginning to get to me.
My last foray into the Adult Day Surgery world, turned more ADULT than I care to think about. I got to sit for hours in a co-ed room of geri-chair recliners with other humans all attired in the latest OR patient wear, who seemingly had reverted to teenage behaviour patterns, perhaps on account of the way we were dressed or maybe it was the length of time some had been fruitlessly waiting. A hen-party heated up to include, "I can tell all the stupid ones in the bars, eh...how many times you got divorced?""Me and my buddies go moose huntin' every year, eh," proclaimed skinny, Elvis-haired thirty-something. I wondered if he had maybe already been sedated. Clearly, he had forgotten he was not wearing pants and reclined cross-legged with the foot of his geri-chair elevated to eye-level. "Give me a gun, Elvis. I could pick off a moose for ya'." All this and more, until my booking was canceled because as I overheard at the nurses' desk, "they are lined up knee deep downstairs, just like Timmies."
Pacing the hallway, reading my Katherine Hepburn, (yes, I'm still reading her), separated from the herd, a nurse approached, "just go back in there and tell them we can't help it, we are caught in the middle." She leaned into me, clip-board in hand, peering into my face like an old head-nurse - the ones who always wore Clinics. I was suddenly glad I was wearing pajamas. You must be nuts, I thought, smiling sweetly and rewinding what had been said upon arrival. They were treating me as an insider; dressed like the enemy, but still one of their own. Did I mention B/P, temp? Did I say script? Maybe it was meds? Gads, they know I'm an old nurse and are trying to recruit me to quell the riot.
I did not go back into the room. They seemed to take pity on me because someone found a private, women-only waiting area, which made me think, it's open season year round, in the adult day surgery co-ed waiting room. Half an hour later I was sent home like a good girl; one time-limited parking voucher, a meal ticket, two digestive cookies and a half-cup of juice stuffed into my hand. Next time I have to cancel last minute I'll try that with them. "Oh. You want money? Ha! How about some Cinnamon Raisin Sticky Buns, better yet, there is some moose steak..."
Glossary: Geri-chair: a wipeable lazy-boy recliner of sorts, often with an attached tabletop which during my time were only seen on the geriatric floors;
B/P: blood pressure
Script: nothing to do with theatre - is a prescription for drugs
Meds: slang for drugs
Clinics: fitted hard leather classic nurses shoes - painful to look at if you have big feet
Timmies: Tim Horton's Doughnut and Coffee Shops, located from Sea to Shining Sea in Canada established by who else, a hockey player.
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