I Hate Hospitals

Blog No. 145

In the last few years (probably going on five or six now, though I always overestimate time) I’ve spent far too much time in the hospital. Granted, any time could be considered too much for the hospital, but it’s even worse when you are the one on the receiving end of the treatment. To be very clear, I want to point out that, other than a little unnecessary waiting and that one time no one in my family could convince the nurses that my well documented disease could be the culprit when they couldn’t figure out what was wrong (it totally was said disease too) my experiences have been as wonderful as could be when ill. Still, that could be rainbows and unicorns and I would still hate going to the hospital (and not just because neither of those things really does it for me). The only type of person I know who actually likes hospitals are sad sacks who crave the attention and sick-os who find it all fascinating or get off on healing people (you know, doctors and nurses).

I hope that dig on doctors and nurses was as sarcastic as I intended it to be. Meh, so. Last week, while minding my own business at work, I got poo-brain. The start of a headache was loitering in the back of my head (not totally unusual) and my eyes were acting funny. You know when you look at a computer screen too long? You writers will understand that. I decided to get some fresh air, and on my way out, I told a co-worker what I was up to, but it all came out wrong. Alphabet Soup (so I’ve heard it called). My words were all jumbled. I knew what I wanted to say and I knew that wasn’t what I was saying, but I couldn’t say the right thing. By my third attempt, I sat in a chair and my quick thinking co-worker sprung into action. He blurted out Hospital (not my favourite place as I’ve mentioned) and I dully nodded and was whisked to emergency for aforementioned poo-brainedness.