Who’d expect it? You go in for a few tests and before you know it you’re marched off to the hospital on a virtual compulsory order from the physician. Here’s an interesting note: that last four letters make up the name Cian – he is from Irish folklore and was born with a filmy membrane on his head and then turned into a pig later in life by a Druid’s wand. Those Druids had such a wonderful sense of fun. Regardless, remember that little story next time you run into anyone that has “cian” at the end of their title or I’d suggest high tailing it out of wherever you are if is actually their name; there maybe a wand waiting to do have some jolly ole fun.
Our little “cottage” hospital, as it was referred to Circa 1904, offers the finest possible of medical services in a very rural community setting it. Luckily enough it is hospital that stores characters that made me open my eyes, drop my jaw and generally scared the “b’jesus” out of me.My first encounter was the screaming witch with the “all about me attitude” but it would be as she was that kind of size or that some would say takes up far too much space. She also featured sky blue dyed hair which had obviously done by someone with a great sense of humour. Her clothing was a spin off from the hookers of Ancient Rome and of course Goth makeup – shame she suffered the shakes it really as it was everywhere. Her form of transport is what I found remarkable. Having turned the seat of a wheelchair towards her, she placed a bedpan on the seat and put her head in the pan. With the force of true determination she headed to the exit of the hospital where she could enter the garden where smoking is permitted (not after 01 July you nasty piece of work). The door was kept opened, but I saw an opportunity and released the lock on the door. Smack – she wasn’t hurt but rather stunned that she’d lost her wicked powers. Throughout my stay she remained a screamer but the mare never did find out who let the door close on her.
I shared my room with three chaps, in their 90’s but I’ll still call them chaps. Two remained in bed in a semi-comatose state. They yelled out interesting little phrases like “this place is doomed” or “shit, shit, shit” but in fact that one had wet his bed – rather confusing. Number two inmate would talk aloud to himself. He was actually lucid in his thoughts but I didn’t need to know he was going to try for another bowel movement. I would, however, know when it happened; a truly grand sound.
The third chap could get out of bed. He was a real character but in terrible pain. He did have panache for putting the family jewellery selection on display and falling asleep standing at the one sink in the room or forgetting why he’d wandered into the bathroom. Obviously the little men’s room did not come with exit directions. One night, somewhat confused, he tried to make my bed for me – I just happened to be in it as it was 2:30am. He was so thin I called him Praying Mantis. It wasn’t meant to mean it is just a way to describe him; believe me I never said it to his face. Always the example of gentlemanly behaviour.
Then there was the most disliked man on SSI. He would interrupt our conversations, go on about what I could do to regain my hair which included something he kept under his sink at home. He was otherwise thoroughly obnoxious. We would take him out to the smoking garden, at his request, and forget about him until bedtime when I’d mention something to the nurses. They didn’t seem to mind that he’d disappeared. On the last morning he asked why I wasn’t wearing a hat and that I would loose my hair (bit late you b’stard). The only comeback that could come to mind was: “I’ll wear a hat if you wear a muzzle”. I then wandered off. Of course I mumbled it being the chicken that I am which is somewhat pathetic as the guy couldn’t walk on his own.
Being someone that wouldn’t have used a public toilet before entering the hospital I definitely surprised everyone with my ability to adjust. I now shower at the laundry in town and only use public toilets – I’ve just become so reckless and carefree.
I did have several moments when I thought back to the Nuffield Private hospital in Hove, England. How hard we sometimes fall. I particularly thought of this when eating the Cow Patty Mousse which became somewhat a staple dessert on our menu.
My great friends of Saltspring visited daily and I’m terribly grateful for their time and the deep concern they showed – a truly wonderful group of people. We chatted about everything and one of our conclusions is that as each person has a unique colon the uniqueness should be record as a form of identification rather than finger prints. Okay, I’ve no idea how we went down this route but it was a meaningful and deep conversation. It was indeed, almost metaphysical on many levels.
I’m home now – Alan, I think, thought I was getting too adjusted and having too much fun with my playmates so he ordered me back to Reno II.
Please note: Alan is not responsible for any content, he’s just appears because I needed an ‘A’ to make P&A and because he’s more than special for putting up with me!
I did think I saw this creature the other day
or was that just one of the moments we
all have whilst in a hospitality clinic?
Just another insight into a strange world.
Px
or was that just one of the moments we
all have whilst in a hospitality clinic?
Just another insight into a strange world.
Px
