January 10, 2008

Beige Medical Beldames

Hospitals are a drag. Like the color beige.
Everything is beige. Including the personalities of the plethora of workers pretending to be spontaneous and forcing their scrubs over monumental... anyway, beige is the most suspect of all mute colors. So perversely safe.
A nurse passes the door. "Can I have the red thing?" She sounds like... well, like the possibility of literally dying of heartbreak. In other words, her mood is actually impossible in a hospital, but like beige, she adobts it, as if it's actually covering the fact that her tulip-pattern scrubs look silly. The beldame! Did I mention she asked for the "red thing"? I'm in good hands.
"What hurts?"
"Oh, just my swallowy-thing."
When's my urine test? I have to go. And I'm stealing gloves this time. I swear.
Enter the doctor. Mr. M.D., asking nothing that the nurse didn't. He's not the curious variety. Just the pudgy variety. Like a yam.
"Are you having trouble swallowing?"
"Yes, I yam." At least he's got the gurneys to wear a white coat.
Nurse #3 enters. Her job is to ask if I would like anything to drink while I'm here. Has anyone ever gotten thirsty in a hospital? "Take off my clothes? Wear a dress? Sure, whatever, but can I have a Gatorade first?" I decline, because she's a beldame.
The first nurse (you get bored in that little beige room and come up with rhymes like that) merrily trips in. Taking my blood, she comments on my good veins. Is she flirting? I'll get her number. And gloves. I'm really stealing gloves this time. And maybe a cotton swab. No, just gloves. The beldame.
"Nurse! Nurse! Stop that boy! He's stolen the latex-free off-white things!"


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