...so I'm in Los Angeles minding my own business. I went on a date with a handsome man and I had a few drinks. I had smoked a bit-O-weed before leaving the house so after a couple Margarita's, I was happy enough to take the beaded necklace from the Miller Lite people walking around the "cabaret" we were patronizing. I didn't mind that the beads had huge blue circles bearing the name of the product they were selling, after all, I was on my 3rd Margarita by then. Why not? The only plans I had were to go home, kiss the handsome dude and pass out on my daughter's couch like any good mother would do.
But as Steinbeck opined in Of Mice and Men, the best laid plans can always meet an unexpected glitch and mine certainly did. Now, remember, I wasn't hurting anyone, I wasn't causing any trouble and my date was paying my way so I had no obligation to society whatsoever at that point.
Some of you might argue that I had the responsibility of not smoking pot but I chose the ONE state in which I can legally do that. I defy any of you to tell me I'm not sick. And if you try to tell me that ganja doesn't make me feel better, I will laugh in your face. I won't argue with you, pot smokers don't argue with straight people, only other pot smokers and only while high. But...I will absolutely make you the laughing stock of me.
So, I was smoking legally obtained weed, in my own home, strictly for the purposes of feeling better...and perhaps a little bit because of how much it helps my pool game. I was drinking perfectly taxed liquor, shooting pool for fun as opposed to cash and kissing a guy who is apparently my OWN PERSONAL dude. All of the people around me were having fun, I saw them. We chatted and laughed and no one was injured in any way.
Then, I go home, stroke out and wake up to find myself being transferred to UCLA Medical Center from another hospital that didn't seem to have the ability to deal with my injuries. Talk about your "YIKES!" moments...that one qualified.
Anyway, I present at the emergency room of one of the most prestigious hospitals in the world...wearing no pants (Don't ask me, the first hospital lost them.), smelling like tequila and wearing blue Miller Lite beads. I was a poster-child for drug tests if ever there was one so they tested me and, like the smart people that they were, they soon knew that, in addition to drinking a bit-O-booze, I had smoked the wacky tobacky that night.
Then they got all FBI on me and asked, "Have you done any drugs today?"
Well, I may have been a bit tipsy and I certainly could have had a bit of a weed buzz going on and perhaps I even had brain damage. But I wasn't stupid enough to go, "Uhhh...nyuck nyuck...nope." So, I admitted my sins and was apparently adjudicated a stoner by one particularly annoying child/physician.
That kid was a hideous mix of Greg Brady and Eddie Haskell. (See photo in following post.) Surprisingly, the Haskell genes must be dominant because this guy was the type who LOOKED like the bully down the street. (See photo in the following post.) I may have seen his older brother in Karate Kid. I wanted to poke him in the eyeballs like Moe. (See photo in the following post.) If enough people had smacked this dude when he was a youngster, he might not be the little shit he is today so...do your grandchildren a favor and smack any and all kids you pass this weekend, only when you're sure that you can get away with it of course. Stranger's kids are best because they don't know who you are so they can't really TELL on you and they make rotten witnesses for the prosecution. Worst case...you hit an innocent kid...but that'll just build character so it's all good.
And yes... I am going to name this brat who held my life in his hands a mere two days ago...it's Matthew Garrett and I'm sure that's right because he signed a bunch of papers that I have right here in front of me.
Did Dr. Garrett do anything malicious? Probably not. But he didn't go out of his way to be professional and that's really a good idea in health care. I'm a nurse and sometimes I don't particularly like my patients but the worst they'll get from me is professionalism. They would never be able to read any negativity into my affect. I could be wrong...but I'm pretty sure that's what professionalism is all about.
This little man came into my room twice and told me that I would be discharged that day. Then, real doctors came in and never mentioned discharge so when Dr. Brat said it again, I didn't pay any attention to him. I had the impression that he was the junior resident who had been pegged as a nimrod and assigned to fill in while the real doctors shaved and put on ties.
I didn't like much of what he said because it all seemed to contradict what the real doctors had said. They told me that my blood pressure medicine wasn't working so they were going to try some different meds. Then, when Dr. Toddler came in, all he did was lower the dose of the one I already had. Now it will not only NOT work, it will not work with a lower dose. I guess that means it really, REALLY won't help me avoid future brain injuries. I hope that it's, at the very least, cheaper than the higher dose I've been taking for years. Then, the little wanker told me to stop taking my anti-seizure medicine in 7 days. I've been taking that for a LONG time and I don't know if I really want to be playing games with it. Call me kookie, but I'm a bit ANTI seizure myself.
Anyway, as a nurse, I know what it is to be discharged. A doctor can discharge you all day long and even if he wiggles his nose when he says it, until a nurse comes in with the paperwork, you pretty must just sit there and wait. If I'm going to wait, I'm gonna do it in the bed...not standing in the hallway or sitting on the folding couch in the room. Anyway, apparently Dr. Bitch learned that by 10 AM, I was still in the hospital. My guess is that he made the nurse feel so stupid that she hadn't discharged me that she came in all rattled and SHE didn't really know what was going on either. So, as I was waiting for my ride to show up, the nurse came in again and explained that there was a "discharge lounge" downstairs and offered me it's use. I felt like a wretched outcast.
With the single exception of Gail Spencer, I found the nursing staff at UCLA to be of the highest caliber. I wouldn't have believed that one manager could hire so many excellent nurses in one place and even the nurse who discharged me was doing a superb job until Dr. Jack Ass got to her.
That's what made me think that Dr. Matthew Garrett was a bully of female patients and female nurses. I don't know about the men, I can't speak for them. But most of us know what it's like to be in the presence of a mean and nasty person and that's exactly what I felt around Dr. Miserable.
That's truly a shame because I was so impressed with the nurses that I wanted to mention them. But since the last impression was the fall-out of Dr. Phibes, that was the most pressing issue this morning.
What's the moral to this story? Easy...don't take the beads from the Miller Lite people.
Am I a bitch? Yes. Do I care if you agree with me? Hell no. As a matter of fact, if you don't, I'm doing it wrong.