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MY SO-CALLED FUCKING DAY
_POSTEDON 2002-04-18 15:49:01 by jimmyd |
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 jimmyd _writes "I don't know how your day went, but my so-called fucking day was a disaster.
Most people don't know this, but I'm blind in one eye. That's right, as in I can't see out of it....at all. It's my right eye. It's been that way for almost ten years which just happens to be my approximate tenure in the jizz bizz. This is why I can--and I know some of my more astute readers see where I'm going with this--it's why I can turn a blind eye to a lot of the bullshit in this business.
A few months ago I went for an eye checkup. You see, because of this blind problem in my right eye, which I've always been told they can't do anything about, I might be susceptible to glaucoma. So every year or two I go in and get checked for that. Well this time the doctor tells me no glaucoma and, by the way, he can fix my eye.
"Fix it as in I can see out of it?" I ask skeptically.
"Yes," says the Doc.
"So, I'll have depth perception again? I'll be able to look through a camera's viewfinder with my right eye, rather than the left, like all cameras are designed for? You're saying I'll be able to shut my left eye and still see out of my right?
"That's right," the Doc says. "Unless there's a complication, which I don't expect."
"What kind of complication?" I ask suspiciously.
"Oh, you might end up with double-vision."
"Like the song?" I ask.
The Doc doesn't get my humor. Anyway, he tells me he can fix the double-vision if that's what happens. He'll fix it with prisms. I didn't want to get into details on that. It sounds a little scarey. I'm not sure if he would bionically insert prisms into my eyesockets--which might make me some kind of superhero capable of laser beams out of my eyes, or maybe even an X-Men candidate--or rather, he's talking prisms in an eyepiece, which probably means I end up with the bottoms of Coca-Cola bottles attached to the front of my face looking like the ultimate geek.
So today's the day they're going to fix my eye. Well, actually three weeks ago was the day they were going to fix my eye, but they canceled me and rescheduled. They canceled me the night before I was to go in.
But for today's appointment, they told me I had to be there at 7:00 A.M. sharp. "Sharp!" the Filipino nurse repeated.
Okay, I got it, I know what sharp means: sharp means you get there on time. Geez! And they also told me "no food, or drink....nothing....for twelve hours before you get here." Hey, no problem, I'm on a diet anyway.
So I get there at 7:00 A.M. sharp. Right on the button, and I check in. They tell me to have a seat. So I sit. And I sit....and I sit.... and I sit. I sit there until nine-fucking-thirty! Finally, I approach the clerk at the desk.
"Excuse me, I was told to be here at seven sharp for my surgery. It's now 9:30 and I haven't heard my name called." I then tell her my name and my social security number. They're big on things like social security numbers because they would really rather think of you as a number, not a name.
She looks at her schedule. "Oh yes," she says. "You're on the schedule."
"I know I'm on the schedule," I tell her through gritted teeth. "I've been here since seven sharp like I was told. What's going on?"
She looks at me, assessing my level of annoyance. Apparently, she decides it's almost in the red zone. She picks up the phone and makes a phone call. It's all hush-hush. She hangs up and tell me, "They'll be up to take you back for your pre-op prep in just a moment."
She tells me this in a voice so mechanical, I looked at her back to see if there was a string to pull, you know, coming out of her back, like those dolls. ( I might have just dated myself there.)
So I go back to sitting. And I sit....and I sit....and then this nurse calls my name. It's now past ten o'clock, but what the hell, I'm finally getting in there. The nurse guides me back to the surgery area and shows me to my little pre-op room.
"Get undressed and put this on," She holds out one of those way-too-small hospital gowns that tie in the back.
"I'm only here for eye surgery," I tell her. "Why do I have to get undressed and wear that?"
"Rules," She tells me.
"Oh! Why didn't you say so. Rules are rules. Who am I to argue with rules." So I get undressed and struggle into this way-too-small gown, with my big, white ass now hanging out for all the nurses to laugh at.
"Hop into the bed," she says. "I have to put in the I.V. and hook you to the monitors."
"What I.V.? What monitors? I'm only here for an eye thing! The doctor told me I'm in and out in a couple of hours! They're not doing general anesthetic! It's just local! What do I need all this shit hooked into me for?
"Rules," she barks and proceeds to puncture me with the I.V., and then hook me to every freakin' life support monitor you can imagine. "I'll be back soon to dialate your eyes," she tells me as she leaves the room.
"I can't wait," I mutter.
"Do you have a ride home?" She calls back, already half-way down the corridor.
"Yes I do!" I shout after her, wondering if she heard me.
So now I'm left by myself, hooked up to all this shit. I lay back and watch the monitor. It's all there, everything that indicates I'm alive: my blood pressure, heart rate, blood oxygen level, respiratory rate. You can actually have fun with this machine. You can, for instance, try holding your breath until both the respiratory rate and blood oxygen level sensors go to zero and sound off the alarms. Of course, it really sucks when you do, because no one comes rushing in to help you. I have no idea how they know if you really stopped breathing, or your just fucking with the machine.
Some time goes by and I'm still lying there thinking about how the Koreans and the Chinese are taking over the American doctoring profession, and how the Filipinos have already taken over the nursing profession, and what all this means to the future of Anglo-America, when I realize no one has ever come back to dialate my eyes. I look at the clock. It's been almost an hour! "What the fuck? I mutter out loud. I continue lying there watching the saline drip and thinking about how, soon, I'll have to piss and what a fucking hassle it's going to be going to the bathroom with all this shit hooked up to me when I realize that two hours have now passed! Okay. I'm trying to remain calm. I'm lying there thinking everyone's taking a quick lunch break and they'll be back soon to perform the miracle of restoring the vision in my right eye when...
I'm now on hour three in the pre-op room. I full-on have to piss. I mean really piss. Piss like a racehorse, like they say. My saline bag is almost empty. It will soon need to be replaced. I have to piss and I'm fucking pissed!
Almost as if I called out in anger, which I didn't, two nurses and a really cute Oriental doctor who I must confess was a hottie, come into the room. "this is it", I'm thinking, when the little hottie Oriental Doctor begins telling me that there's a problem and the surgeries in front of me went a little long and they'll have to reschedule me (AGAIN!!!!) for sometime in fucking May!
"What?" I nearly shout! "Are you fucking kidding me? This is the second time I've been rescheduled! This is cruel shit! Do you know what I go through to mentally prepare myself for this? Without drugs or alchohol?"
"Calm down, sir," one of the nurses says.
"Calm down? You make me sit in that waiting room for almost three hours than do another three hours in here with all this shit poked into me and you come in here and tell me all casual like that there's a problem and I'll have to come back in May? Is everyone smoking crack here but me?"
"Calm down, sir," the hottie doctor tells me, raising her cute, sexy, Asian voice just a little. "We're all very sorry, but that's the way it is. We're not allowed to start a procedure after a certain time of day here. Remember, this is an out-patient clinic not a regular hospital." And with that, the hottie turns and leaves.
I look at the Filipino nurse who is now yanking all the wires and tubes out of me. She looks up at me, there's no remorse on her face whatsoever.
"Rules." She says, as she pulls the I.V. out of the back of my hand and a spurt of blood shoots out like a poorly aimed money shot onto my gown.
"
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