I swear to God, if I see one more doctor or nurse walk into Hank’s recovery room without stopping at the hand sanitizer dispenser next to his door, I am going to throw one of these ugly beige chairs at them. How exactly do they think superplagues get started?
I know how this stuff works, people! I read Outbreak! You think Robin Cook made all that up? Need I remind you that HE IS A MEDICAL DOCTOR?
So, yeah. No real word on Hank’s prognosis just yet. We’re hanging in there. Mostly.
Meanwhile, I cannot believe the total lack of attention to hygiene in this place. It’s not just the forks — although seriously, Morley Safer should come down here with a microscope and blow the lid off this joint, because I don’t think even those poor orphans in that Dickens book had to deal with conditions like this. And don’t even get me started on the little clump of grime permanently hardened into the corner behind the fourth floor women’s bathroom door. Please. It’s enough to make you throw up — but I’m afraid to, because they might just let it sit there.
And who decided that all the plastic hoo-hah in a hospital room should be the same fleshy-pink color as a Wal-Mart mannequin? I can barely stand to look at Hank’s water pitcher. I keep thinking it’s going to come to life and sing me part of “Beauty and the Beast.” Pitcher, I am not in the mood.
I had a funny thought this morning. Okay, maybe not funny to you, but it made me laugh. Right before… well, right before I got the call from Hank’s ASAC, I was thinking about my next blog post. And I was going to write this whole thing about how ridiculous it is to ruin someone’s whole career for one tiny mistake, and how people shouldn’t be judged by one little lapse in judgment.
Here’s the part that made me laugh: Right now, a ruined career sounds pretty good to me. A totally ruined career, followed by a nice, long, healthy life? Sign me up.Read More