Sock Puppet

1 Jan

When I first woke up I thought it would be a good idea to take off my hospital socks.  I don’t remember if I was hot or what.  I, in fact,  don’t really remember the thought process behind that decision at all.  .  .  I took off those socks though!  Apparently, the hospital staff doesn’t want you to take off their socks.  My nurse immediately noticed I wasn’t wearing my socks, despite the fact my feet were under the covers.  She knew my feet were bare, and said, “Let’s go ahead and put your socks on.”  I was just like alright. . .  I figured why fight it—I don’t remember my reasoning for taking them off anyways. . .  It was quite random.

Not much happened after that, except I had to wait and wait. You are legally intoxicated 24 hours after you wake up from surgery (a cool fact I didn’t know before), so needless to say, you can’t drive yourself home.  Most people are picked up by family, but mine is super-far away.  Some are picked up by friends, but the people I know live 2 hours away from the hospital.  I was staying with friends (thanks Josh and Lauren!) in KC, but neither of them got off work until 6:30.  Lots of waiting. . .

I think the hospital was concerned about the trouble I could get into at the hospital, so they sent for a cab.

As I was waking up, they asked me my friend’s address.  I hadn’t been to their new apartment yet—I didn’t know.  My phone wouldn’t work in the wake-up area either, so I couldn’t ask.  The hospital staff just kept demanding repeatedly an address.  My friends were at work, which made the situation even MORE stressful.  I didn’t know what to do—I  was still a little muddy from the anesthetic, I guess.  Finally the nurse called my friend at her work herself, and obtained an address.  No one ever told me what that address was.  I was just relieved they stopped asking me questions I didn’t know the answer to.

I felt fine—completely normal, actually.  Mostly I was bored sitting there waiting for the cab to arrive.  It took the better part of an hour *yawn*  and when the cab DID arrive, I was not trusted to even stand up.  A nurse had to supervise me as I got dressed, which of course is mortifying.  She also thrust a pad at me.

TMI side story:  The only time I EVER wore a pad was the first day I ever had my period.  I was home alone and only used it because I wasn’t very familiar with the tampon.  As expected, the pad was uncomfortable, diaper-like (crinkling when I walked and sat), and dirty!  As soon as my mom got home that night, I received a tampon instructional and never went back.  I NEVER use pads—because they are filthy and disgusting.

Back to the point:  Even if I did use them, I certainly did not want to put one on in front of somebody.  As I dressed, I hid the unused pad in my bedding.  Crafty, huh?  Then, she put me in a wheelchair.  My first time being pushed was exciting.  But mostly because I don’t need anything like that in real life.

It was my first cab ride, but I was pretty sure that you were supposed to sit in back.  My nurse deposited me in the front seat.  I think it made my driver feel just as awkward as I felt. She handed my driver a voucher, then left us.  He immediately asked what my friend’s address was!  I STILL didn’t know.  He started pushing random things into his GPS, and drove aimlessly.  The toll clicked higher and higher as he drove.  He asked what neighborhood my friend lived in—I didn’t know.  He asked what state they lived in.  I thought probably Missouri, but didn’t know for certain if they were on the Kansas side.  It’s these kinds of thoughts that I look back on and come to the conclusion I WAS intoxicated, by the way.  I called my poor friend (at work) again, and got some highway numbers.  This satisfied the driver so I relaxed.

I observed a McDonald’s billboard advertising the new coffee beverages and asked my driver if he had tried them yet.  He said he hadn’t and asked if I wanted him to stop so we could get one.  I said no [in my head:  Dude, I was just making conversation].  Then, my driver seemed to be driving aimlessly again.  The toll was at $50 dollars or something and we were still on I-435.  Then, he pulled off the highway, and seemed to be heading in a bizarre direction.

This could have been a very perilous situation.  I’m all alone (and intoxicated) with this strange cab driver in a foreign place. Foreign in the sense I didn’t know it well, not actually in another country, mind you.  He got back on the highway, but then exited again, this time to fill his gas tank!  The entire time, the toll was ticking upwards!  Not very ethical—but I guess the hospital makes enough money to handle it.

Finally, we got to the apartment complex.  When it was in view, he stopped for me to get out.  Normally, this is whatever.  I don’t mind walking.  You have to remember I was loaded into the cab from a wheelchair!!!  What was he thinking making me walk 2 blocks?  Besides, he could have gotten that little extra (above and beyond the $78 he racked up from Overland Park to Blue Springs) toll from driving me up to the door.

 

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