This reminds me of my last hospital visit. A colonoscopy. which is not fun, but painless and a minor procedure. The hospital wouldn’t do the procedure unless I had someone with me. The waiting room was filled with whole families being “with” the patients. I didn’t want anyone with me, but I got my neighbor to come with me.When you wake up, you are farting and slobbering and thirsty and hungry and wanna get the hell outa there and don’t want someone “with” you. Then the doctor came in, the anesthesiologist, the anesthesiologists helper, the nurses, the nurses helper, the janitor…..no I think he was on facebook and couldn’t make it. Every man jack of them introducing themselves, asking if I was comfortable, if I had any questions, did I need a chaplain, did I need anything, an earnest young twit asked if my doctor had explained the procedure to me, my reply was something to the effect that at my age I had enough of them that I could do one, on and on and on, ad nauseum. (Latin for makes me wanna hurl.)It wasn’t a medical team, it was a social media event!In a few days the anesthesiologist, the hospital and I don’t know who all texted me or called me, “to see if I was all right.” I answered the hospital call thinking it might be important. It’s got to where it’s the same touchy-feely social media B.S. when I go to the doctor’s clinic. Although I haven’t been “socially evaluated” since I told the ageing bimbo in response to her question “how do you handle stress.” I told her, lady, I don’t get stress, I give stress.
This reminds me of my last hospital visit. A colonoscopy. which is not fun, but painless and a minor procedure. The hospital wouldn’t do the procedure unless I had someone with me. The waiting room was filled with whole families being “with” the patients. I didn’t want anyone with me, but I got my neighbor to come with me.When you wake up, you are farting and slobbering and thirsty and hungry and wanna get the hell outa there and don’t want someone “with” you. Then the doctor came in, the anesthesiologist, the anesthesiologists helper, the nurses, the nurses helper, the janitor…..no I think he was on facebook and couldn’t make it. Every man jack of them introducing themselves, asking if I was comfortable, if I had any questions, did I need a chaplain, did I need anything, an earnest young twit asked if my doctor had explained the procedure to me, my reply was something to the effect that at my age I had enough of them that I could do one, on and on and on, ad nauseum. (Latin for makes me wanna hurl.)It wasn’t a medical team, it was a social media event!In a few days the anesthesiologist, the hospital and I don’t know who all texted me or called me, “to see if I was all right.” I answered the hospital call thinking it might be important. It’s got to where it’s the same touchy-feely social media B.S. when I go to the doctor’s clinic. Although I haven’t been “socially evaluated” since I told the ageing bimbo in response to her question “how do you handle stress.” I told her, lady, I don’t get stress, I give stress.