I was in the hospital a few days ago, for a few hours. Ran into something a little weird.
When I first got there I was not feeling so hot. I imagine hunters might recognize the look on my face from when they walk up to a still breathing lung-shot deer: a sort of mute look of pain and horror and omg-omg-do-something-oh-this hurts. A look that says 'A bullet in the brain is the only humane thing to do. Where is my 1911?.'
It got better in a big hurry. Pain medication is a wonderful thing.
Oh and when I first read this I was like maybe some of you and went 'ha-ha that is so cute but it's just funny not real or anything'. I now know that Allie [1] has nailed the pain management chart. I'm going to print that f*cker off and show it to the friendly [2] PA at the doctor's office. This .. this is a pain management chart and you should pay Allie a whole bunch of money for the rights to reprint it.
Anyway. Pain and I didn't care what happened as long as it didn't involve riding in a car over bumps [3]. Or sudden movement. Or movement. Breathing hurt. Then I was blissed out on Dilod-oc-whatever and I noticed that I no longer gave a rip. The sun was out and I was quite happy with the blanket the nurse gave me [4] and all was all right with the world. Drew Carey was on 'The Price is Right' [5] and even that was okay.
And while they did this thing and that thing, between the pain and the bliss I understood that I no longer had a speck of body modesty. We're in the hospital, man. You guys see these sick sacks of meat all the time so it's like slabs of meat at the butcher shop. Do whatever you need.
Well, that was my opinion. The nurses, the CT tech, and everybody else was all weird about it and insisted I tie up the flaps of my hospital johnny and made sure even when they were scanning and handling my intimate parts they did so with a sheet covering up the naughty bits and reassuring me (the guy who didn't give a rip) that my modesty was clearly being respected.
Me, Mr. Modesty, had no issues. Guys who see all kinds of bodies day in and day out, did.
That's weird, man.
Or maybe the dipla-dodunk stuff is still chasing around my body.
[1] Oh, look at me, first-naming the funny lady. It's just handier than 'Allie that funny chick who draws some good stuff at Hyperbole and a Half'.
[2] No, she really is awesome.
[3] I reckon there are seventy-thousand bumps in the two miles between the clinic and the hospital. The city should get right on that. Or maybe a hovercraft ambulance for guys with kidney stones - that would make for a smoother ride.
[4] They have a special heating cabinet for blankets. I need one of those.
[5] That man does not look right with a Drew Carey head perched on a body conspicuously lacking the Drew Carey gut. He looks like a bad photo shop.
When I first got there I was not feeling so hot. I imagine hunters might recognize the look on my face from when they walk up to a still breathing lung-shot deer: a sort of mute look of pain and horror and omg-omg-do-something-oh-this hurts. A look that says 'A bullet in the brain is the only humane thing to do. Where is my 1911?.'
It got better in a big hurry. Pain medication is a wonderful thing.
Oh and when I first read this I was like maybe some of you and went 'ha-ha that is so cute but it's just funny not real or anything'. I now know that Allie [1] has nailed the pain management chart. I'm going to print that f*cker off and show it to the friendly [2] PA at the doctor's office. This .. this is a pain management chart and you should pay Allie a whole bunch of money for the rights to reprint it.
Anyway. Pain and I didn't care what happened as long as it didn't involve riding in a car over bumps [3]. Or sudden movement. Or movement. Breathing hurt. Then I was blissed out on Dilod-oc-whatever and I noticed that I no longer gave a rip. The sun was out and I was quite happy with the blanket the nurse gave me [4] and all was all right with the world. Drew Carey was on 'The Price is Right' [5] and even that was okay.
And while they did this thing and that thing, between the pain and the bliss I understood that I no longer had a speck of body modesty. We're in the hospital, man. You guys see these sick sacks of meat all the time so it's like slabs of meat at the butcher shop. Do whatever you need.
Well, that was my opinion. The nurses, the CT tech, and everybody else was all weird about it and insisted I tie up the flaps of my hospital johnny and made sure even when they were scanning and handling my intimate parts they did so with a sheet covering up the naughty bits and reassuring me (the guy who didn't give a rip) that my modesty was clearly being respected.
Me, Mr. Modesty, had no issues. Guys who see all kinds of bodies day in and day out, did.
That's weird, man.
Or maybe the dipla-dodunk stuff is still chasing around my body.
[1] Oh, look at me, first-naming the funny lady. It's just handier than 'Allie that funny chick who draws some good stuff at Hyperbole and a Half'.
[2] No, she really is awesome.
[3] I reckon there are seventy-thousand bumps in the two miles between the clinic and the hospital. The city should get right on that. Or maybe a hovercraft ambulance for guys with kidney stones - that would make for a smoother ride.
[4] They have a special heating cabinet for blankets. I need one of those.
[5] That man does not look right with a Drew Carey head perched on a body conspicuously lacking the Drew Carey gut. He looks like a bad photo shop.
