Bright and almost early last Monday we were at the hospital to have Michael's arm reset.
There's something mildly disconcerting about hospitals and their procedures. You have to wonder about the staff's deductive skills when the arm in the temporary cast has to be marked as the one that needs to be reset.
Then the doctor came in. Actually, he didn't come in on his own, I had to ask to see him. When we asked him about the procedure (they were essentially having to finish breaking the arm so they could correctly set it), he asked my husband what he did for a living. When Michael said that he worked on computers, the doctor said, "Well, I'm computer illiterate and I wouldn't understand anything you told me about your job so why don't you just let me do mine." Can you feel the warm fuzzys?
Actually, what's almost more disturbing is this doctor's personal nurse assured me that I would "just love Dr. H-----. He's wonderful and has a great bedside manner!" What would she qualify as a crappy bedside manner?
God, I hope this arm is set correctly.
My darling, ever so thoughful, husband had ordered a Vermont Teddy Bear for Michael complete with matching cast which was personalized with the date of the breakage. Of course "Bear" accompanied us on this adventure and the nurses (who were ever so much more personable than the doctor) suited Michael and "Bear" in hospital gowns, matching hair nets and id bracelets. (I'm saving the hair nets for next Halloween when I'll dress up as "Cranky Cafeteria Line Lady.)
They also gave Michael a coloring book and some crayons.
He was happily coloring along, almost within the lines (oh, please don't give me one of those 'stay inside the lines' kind of kids!)when they gave him the happy drink. Just enough of something to settle his nerves (I'll have some on the rocks, please...) and make him a little sleepy. His coloring went from almost tidy to crazy! He told me that he was drawing mountains really far away!
After all was said and done, we left the hospital with one dopey kid.
He asked to go to McDonalds and since my heart strings had been pulled to distortion, I agreed.
As I pulled into the parking lot, Michael insisted we go inside. Ugh. It's one thing to have my car stink of the stuff, but go inside? Well that's what we did. He was still staggering from the Tylenol with Codeine so we carried him in and got his lunch. I guess we didn't exactly behave like parents of the year as we laughed at his stoned antics and virtually inability to eat. Poor kid.
Needless to say, he had no memory of going to McDonalds (pity, because THAT doesn't happen very often) and only the big, green monster of a souviner to show for the morning.
