Preadmission Stories

These are nine micro-stories from my first trip to the hospital in preparation for impending surgery. Don't expect the earth to shake on these. If you're in a rush, just skip to the bottom and read the last three lines.

1. Registration

After a ham and cheese sandwich and chips at Red River Cafe, I walked to St. David's. It was a hot, sunny afternoon, and by the time I got to admissions, my shirt was wet from sweat.

They gave me a number, #34, to protect my privacy, and pointed me to the waiting room. Sitting as far from the blaring television as I could, I pulled out my book and buried my face in it. I didn't have long to read.

"Number thirty-four," a woman called out from a doorway. I raised my hand and packed up my stuff. Once she saw me, she assumed a blank stare in a different direction and began reciting some pre-scripted set of instructions telling me which booth to sit in and that she would be there in a moment. I was two feet away from her, and she was standing erect staring into the void giving these instructions as if someone had wound her up. And first I thought she was joking. She wasn't.

2. Paperwork

In booth 3, I surrendered everything: my driver's license, my insurance card, my charge card and (I bit my tongue) my social security number. "I have a ton of paperwork for you," she said. But it wasn't a ton, and she gave me back the slip of paper with my SSN on it as soon as she'd entered it into the computer, telling me to destroy it for my privacy, and she spoke to me directly not into the void, so I started smiling again.

$25,000. That's what they figure it will cost. And that doesn't include the doctors and labs. I'm blessed with good insurance, but nevertheless I leaned toward her and said, "Mighty expensive procedure, don't you think?" She agreed and then asked me to check all the data she had on a computer form.

The form looked good to me, so she fastened a blue paper bracelet around me wrist and pointed me back to the waiting area.

3. At the Laboratory

Someone came and got me before long. I didn't even have time to read more than a paragraph or two -- this time by name.

"I'm David, again?" I asked. "No number?"

She laughed. "You're David, again."

She led me to the laboratory -- waiting room #2, where I sat down and took out my book and picked up where I had left off.

4. Urine Test

The woman next to me said something about how I had been waiting a long time. I hadn't. Her name was Anita, and her husband was being pre-admitted for gall bladder surgery. They were from Elroy, real Texans from the sound of her voice and the smile on her face.

A nurse came to get me before our conversation went anywhere. "Gotta go Anita, you know pee in a cup." What on earth was I thinking!?

The nurse escorted me to the bathroom where I found an empty cup with my name on it in a pass-thru cabinet in the wall. I had had three glasses of iced tea at the cafe, so it didn't take long.

5. Chest X-rays

When I got back to waiting room #2, the receptionist said, "We'll get with you in a moment."

Anita was gone. I sat down and began to read again, managing to absorb three paragraphs (and they were good ones) before someone else came out to get me. She took me to waiting room #3, which was really the X-ray room.

I read one paragraph before the X-ray technician came in. He had me take off my shirt and stand first this way then that as he stood behind a shield and pushed the buttons. He took the films and left the room, telling me he was going to check them to make sure they came out ok.

I got dressed.

6. Blood Work

In one paragraph's time, someone else came into the room and led me two doors down the hall to the blood lab.

I sat down on a wide, cushioned seat with broad padded, swiveling armrests and began to read again. I had read an entire page when the blood technician came in. She wore a disposable white gown, and the first thing she did when she entered the room was wash her hands with foam from a dispenser that hung directly beside the door under a sign that boldly proclaimed, "Foam in. Foam out."

"I have a lot of blood to take," she said, but in truth she didn't -- just a few vials.

Then she had me verify the data on another computer form and then attached a waterproof plastic bracelet to my wrist, warned me no to remove it before the surgery, and cut the blue paper one off.

Then she took me around the corner.

7. EKG

There were three women milling around the EKG lab, but when I arrived, and once they decided who was going to take me, they quickly led me down a short hallway into the EKG room. I didn't get a chance to read.

The EKG technician was a slim, young woman who seemed to be talking with me but in fact was only absorbing half the words I said, which in the event was no big deal, because I was babbling about EKG paper printouts (hoping I could get a copy) and CT-scan CDs and Macs and PCs. Can you blame her for barely listening to me?

She talked about her weekend plans with her husband who plays hockey.

"Ice Bats?" I asked.

"Canadiens," she said. "He lives in Montreal."

"What!?" I gasped. "How often do you see him?"

She looked up at the ceiling as if she were calculating. "About once a month."

"That must be tough," I said.

"No. I'm not the clingy kind."

8. Back to the Beginning

The EKG technicians pointed me in the direction of the waiting room #2 receptionist who pointed me in the direction of waiting room #1.

"Just knock on the door," she said.

"What door?" I asked.

"The door where you came from," she told me, pointing toward where I was supposed to go.

"Near the TV?" I asked.

"Yes," she said.

Oh, I thought to myself. That would be the door by the TV blaring CNN's live coverage of the Paris Hilton back-to-jail extravaganza. Will they be able to hear me over the TV?

9. Checkout

So I walked down the hall and down another hall and knocked on the door. A guy opened the door and had a look of recognition on his face. I had never seen him before. He stepped aside and let me in, pointing me in the direction of two nurses sitting on stools. Then he left.

I looked at one nurse and then the other. Both looked at me. It was like they were waiting for me to do something. I recognized one from when I first left waiting room #1. I didn't recognize the other one. The first got up and left, and the other, who was eating an ice cream bar, smiled and nodded but could say nothing at first, because her mouth was full.

Finally, she said, "Real professional of me?" as she tossed the popsicle stick into a garbage can. "I talked to you the other day on the phone," she added. "I'm Elizabeth."

I recognized her name, because we had spoken at length about whether or not the blood bank had taken the right thing two weeks ago.

"Am I done?" I asked.

"You're done," she said.

Of course I'm not done at all but rather just beginning.

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