hospital humor

So what's so funny about being stuck in the hospital for several days? 

Well, take an Ed visit: he comes, brings me a requested bottle of shampoo, a comb, he notes my half finished bagel on a tray by the door and asks -- this yours? I think so. In a minute, it's gone

The doc comes in as he licks up the last of the cream cheese. Ed tells him -- you look just like your picture! (For some reason there is a booklet of staff doctors with large photos lying o the couch, almost begging you to look and admire.) Thankfully, the doc takes that as a complement.

By this time I am in fine spirits. I'm past the berry smoothie morning, where I was woken at 6 to start drinking several bottles of stuff meant for the compost pile so far as I am concerned but which had the appealing name of berry smoothie, to stir your imagination in a good direction. (This is to scan your digestive tract.) I will never again look at berry smoothies with any amount of enthusiasm.

It is unclear if I will be a hospital patient for a day, for two days. I doubt that it will be longer than that. There is, however, a funny (broadly defining the word funny) consequence of having a whole slew of tests done for something as straightforward as a fever. At my age, if you look hard enough, you will find a carpet bag of goodies to excite you. Sinewy weird things growing, air pockets forming, nodes enlarging, passageways shrinking.  It's like going on a truffle hunt after a rainstorm. There are going to be mushrooms out there, not just the coveted truffles. Lots and lots of mushrooms of various shapes and sizes. 

Nonetheless, you teach yourself not to be such a fussbudget. Take the good enough, ignore the bad. Dont sweat the truffles, stick with the porcini, turn away from the poison caps.  

In the meantime,  I am happy as can be to send Ed downstairs to get me a guaranteed cure for my headache: a cafe latte from the coffee shop downstairs.

(I haven't had coffee since New York. Caffeine withdrawal is a terrible thing.)

How does the day end?  Fever is gone, even as a new antibiotic allergy has been discovered within me. I look right now like a poison mushroom with inverted colors: red dots on pale skin. My insides are mostly feeling fine with some question marks still floating around. Sort of like your average 69 year old's report!

And here's one final sweet and therefore funny take on life: you tell Ed that the world will end tomorrow and he'll always say -- it sure will! But you ask him -- what do you think, was it the mussels or is it that other diagnosis that you don't really want for yourself? -- and he'll say: dont be ridiculous. Of course it was the mussels.