Saturday, June 5, 2010

Monday Attitude Adjustment Story (MAAS)

I figured that since the world (and especially America) is in such poor shape that I should find some way to share my "true" life stories with you & since I am close to publishing my second MAAS book, this might prove to be an excellent sales pitch tool. While I don't have enough time to compose a story worthy of sharing by next Monday, I thought I'd just re-publish the last MAAS I had written before suffering a total system crash last year (maybe my computer had been trying to tell me something and I was just too stupid to pay attention?). Anyway, for those who missed it, he is Part I of my hospital trip to St.Thomas emergency after a fall. Pay no attention to the dates listed; I left them in only for a time reference and will update them for the next issue.

Trip to Bountiful…er… St Thomas Emergency
Last Wednesday night I had to make one of many nightly excursions to the restroom and on my return voyage, just before reaching the safe haven of my bed, I fell to the floor. I will not relate all the sordid details behind my trip to carpet city, just suffice it to say that I landed on all fours and got back into my bed without any help from anyone. I did however; awaken the entire household (except for my 13 year-old grandson who has become oblivious to these kinds of ominous sounds) as well as causing great consternation in the Ohio department of seismology until they discovered it was not another earth shattering seismic event. Unlike other experiences, I raised myself up fairly quickly into my bed and was eager to return into slumber-land when Sylvia & Ryan said I was bleeding and they wanted to press my “Help I've fallen and can’t get up” button. I could see the blood on the carpet (which is almost blood colored anyway) and pooh-poohed that idea but when I got into bed; they could see that there was a significant gash under my little toe…And they pushed the panic button. A very short time later, I thought the circus had come to town; you know that small car with a seemingly endless line of emerging clowns? Except this was a seemingly long line of paramedics entering my room. In fact I asked if someone had dispatched the entire Akron Fire Department. There were actually only four but it seemed like a lot more. One guy was wrapping my wound until my foot looked like it belonged to Boris Karloff’s Mummy while another was asking me what health problems, other than a bleeding appendage, I had. What the other two were doing, other than laughing at my jokes, I have no idea. When the “Questioner” had finished he announced that they did not have room in their emergency vehicle for me and asked if I wanted them to call an ambulance or have my family drive me to the hospital. Later, when Ryan seemed indignant about their statement that there was no room for me I told him that was obvious since four had emerged from their truck but the rest of the clowns were still inside, putting on their makeup for the “Big Show”. I refused the ambulance (trying to do my part to reduce Medicare/Medicaid costs) and said my family could take me. Especially since they said they couldn’t get the stretcher down our hall and into the bedroom so I was going to have to walk into the living room anyway. Everyone kept worrying about the pain and I kept telling them that the only benefit of diabetes generated neuropathy was not being able to feel anything below my ankles (once it gets to be numb from my waist down, I’ll opt for Dr. Kevorkian’s beside manner). I must say that poor Sylvia had a tougher time than usual putting on my Frankenstein-like diabetic shoes because of the enlarged size of my heavily bandaged right foot. All eyes were surveying me with trepidation as I waddled into the living room and sat down in my over sized, motorized recliner. When they asked me what was wrong I lied to them and said that I just wanted to rest. The truth was that I wanted to wait until the masses got out of my way and I could make it unobstructed to our car…there were bodies everywhere and one guy even stopped in the door and asked if I wanted any help. I was nice and just replied, “No thank you” when I was actually thinking “No, just get the *&^#%$ out of my way you $@%^ Bozo!” I finally got to the car and breathed a sigh of relief until I realized that Sylvia was driving me to the Hospital. I promised her that if I wrote about this story (as she knew I surely would) that I would not relate how she ran a red light nor would I recount how, although delivering all of her children at St. Thomas, how she went the wrong way and even bypassed the entrance, so I won’t. When we got to the entrance, the policeman that helped us enter and directed us to the emergency room stated, “Good luck it is a real crowded night”. Seeing how long this story has become already and knowing how much more there is to tell, I feel this would be a good break point (Oh wow, had an old 501 flashback! This is an operations insider joke and you have to be older than dirt to get it so don’t feel bad if you don’t), so I’ll finish my tale next Monday in Part II.

Next week's 11-02-2009 (#146) title: Trip to St Thomas Emergency Part II

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