After a few lonely minutes I realized I needed to use the restroom. There was no one around so I gathered the delicate folds of my gown (hospital gown) and swept out onto the floor (surgical floor). Something to note is that the beds on this surgical prep floor were not simply separated by those sliding curtains they were actually all little pods with sliding glass panels that opened when you touched a button. I almost expected there to be a hiss of hydraulic and a voice that said “opening sick bay doors” but instead I was met with startled glances from doctors and nurses who were bustling around getting patients ready and pounding on keyboards inputting vital signs.
None of them moved and I guess I must have looked like a wild animal trapped in a cage because a nurse slowly walked toward me with her hands in front of her and gently asked me “is something wrong dear?” Looking back I guess I still had a pretty horrible black eye from my biopsy surgery, my arm was a little bruised from a bad IV I had gotten during an MRI, I was limping a little from the angiogram procedure, and I was shaking uncontrollably from nervousness and the draft wafting through my hospital gown. I was probably the equivalent of those poor pound puppies that they show on the ASPCA commercials with that Sarah McLaughlin song playing in the background. I turned to her and I saw her tense kind of like runners do when they are about to take off for a 100 meter sprint. Maybe she thought I was so scared I would bolt and that she would have to tackle me and drag me back to my pod.
“umm I need to use the restroom please” This seemed to relax her.
She dropped her hands and walked toward me saying, “oh well why didn’t you say so. I’ll show you the way.”
She guided me by the arm the ten feet to the women’s room (I could have found it myself) and of course asked “would you like me to come in and help you? I politely declined. (like I said, I have writing material for the next decade)
Once I was finished I shuffled back to my glass menagerie in those pastel blue no-skid socks and found an anesthesiologist and another nurse there waiting on me. “Ah thar she is. We thought you flew the coop las.” Said the anesthesiologist out of the side of his mouth like Gerard Butler and in a very thick Irish accent. (I realize Gerard Butler is Scottish, but this guy was Irish. Just wanted everyone to know I know the difference here) The nurse was a woman with wavy blonde hair and she had one of those smiles that was technically perfect with red lips and white straight teeth but it did not really meet her eyes which looked at me with a little annoyance as I crawled back into my bed. I was still shaking so she covered me with warm blankets. (When I win the lottery and can buy ridiculous things, I will buy one of these blanket microwaves from a medical supply store. They are awesome.) The Irish doctor asked me a few questions about my cardiovascular health as I continued to shake and the nurse with the perfect smile continued to add layers of blankets. Finally he asked, “Are you feeling any anxiety this morning?” I nodded, “just a little”
“Would you like something to help you relax?” You got it Gerard, push the Versed.