I went and did it – I have heard about southern hospitality so much that I thought I would see if it extended to the hospitals as well.
I got sick with my old friend cellulitis. Diana noticed that I was acting strange so she took my temperature. Sure enough, I was sick. She called our GP in Myrtle Beach and was advised that the hospital was going to be our next stop. Minutes later I was loaded into an ambulance and the EMTs started taking my vitals. I was a sick puppy!
I don’t remember much about my grand entrance to the Waccamaw hospital. Apparently my fevered temperature was stopping me from focusing on my surroundings until I heard someone say, “Let’s get the Foley.”
If you do not know what a Foley is, it is very similar to a colonoscopy but in another orifice. I could have sworn that they had just inserted a splintered two-by-four or at least a 1-inch diameter plastic pipe. I had the urge to get off from the gurney and run but I was fearful of what would happen when I ran out of pipe. I kept saying over and over the wish that Dorothy has about “Going home.”
The next morning I was introduced to a bevy of young ladies who were a part of the Technical Training Nursing Program at Waccamaw Institute.
They discovered what an ulcerated stomach and inner thigh area could look like. I was not embarrassed to show them because anything “south of the border” either fell off or dried up years ago.
I got a sponge bath and a new hospital gown and we got along just fine until at the time of receiving my medication one of the lovelies said “I think I dropped a pill.” There was a scurry of activity with mumblings about the hope that the instructor would not be back soon.