The surgical unit was perfect...seemed that way to me. From the moment we parked in the lot(where we were picked up by a sweet little old man driving a golf cart at 5 am) until the end of the surgery, all was great. No complaints here. And I'm really not one to complain. These little incidents just struck me funny. My husband had shoulder-replacement surgery a few days ago. Great surgeon, wonderful surgical nurses, organized to the last detail, very efficient.
Then he left the surgical unit.
I asked where he'd been taken. Oh, yes, ma'am they said. He's in room 446. Off I go to the elevator juggling all my bags of stuff that will help the day pass quickly (including my trusty laptop). Get off at the 4th floor. Numbers 440-470 this way....through the doors of the CCU (coronary care unit). Hmmm. I wonder if they just had issues with too many patients, not enough rooms. I see the nurses station and ask for this room. Oh, yes ma'am, here he is. I follow her to the room. In the bed, an approximately 90 year old man. Lying there. Mouth open. Snoring. Whoa!! I said, mistake here. My husband had shoulder-replacement surgery. (And he's only 55)!! Finally, through computer searches and phone calls they locate John. New room number. I go to those doors. NO ENTRY. Okay. Nurse walks by and says, oh yes,ma'am, you have to go down to the 3rd floor, go to the red elevators and back up to the 4th floor. That'll get you to his room. Cool. I finally find the man.
Long day, John is happily feeling nothing after a strong nerve block in his shoulder. I go home at sunset to get a good night's sleep. No place to sleep in that room anyway.
In the morning, I return. Breakfast was good, John said. (By the way, this hospital food WAS good...both "room service" and the cafe.) John's settling down for a morning nap. He's on Percocet, you know. Starting to snore. An important-looking man comes in and asks him to sit in a chair. We got new beds for the whole floor, he says. We're taking your bed and bringing you a great new one. Okay. Out rolls the bed. Twenty minutes go by. John sits in the chair in his short little hospital gown and snoozes off, upright, of course. Mouth open, snoring. Upright. No bed. I tell someone. Okay, we'll be back with the bed. Another 20 minutes goes by. Still no bed. I stand in the doorway this time and just point into the room as personnel walk by. Anyone who will look at me. Oh,yes ma'am...we're getting the bed now. Another 20 minutes. John's nurse walks in ready to check his vitals, etc. I just point again. He has no bed, I say. For the last hour. She is embarrassed and apologizes. Well, I cared more than John did. After all, he was on Percocet. No problema! Finally, the bed arrives. Oh, by the way, they'd run out of the new beds. He got an old one. HA!!
Throughout the 36 hours there, I saw a gorgeous sunset through the hospital room window, ate an excellent prime rib sandwich with cheese and pepper mayo from the cafe, heard a code called in CCU (hope it wasn't my 90 year old man), heard the nurse questioning the patient next door about his fight with his brother-in-law that landed him there (hit four times, he said), met some very sweet, caring nursing assistants, nurses and food services personnel, watched physical therapy in the hallways, rode many elevators, got lost 3 times, paid ten dollars in parking fees, and overall had a decent experience. Quite different from the maternity experiences I've had with my daughter. That's happy stuff. Now we're home. These are painful "get through it" days with fever, swelling, lots of pain pills and no showers for a week because of the bandages. Phew!! Can't be helped. John will have great range of motion and lots less pain after he recovers. Looking forward to that!
