26 October 2007

Several years ago my elderly grandmother was in the hospital bed and her nurse button fell off the pillow. When she tried to reach it, she fell out of the bed. She couldn't get up. She couldn't reach the nurse button. Finally, she crawled to the telephone and called my mom, 30 miles away, who called the nurses station, 15 feet away, and they came and fixed everything.

I decided right then that at no point in time would I or anyone I loved be alone in a hospital room, without family presence. And earlier this week one of my children had to spend the night in a hospital, and I was okay with that.

There was a really comfortable-looking recliner. Good fake leather, soft and cushy, lots of room. The remote for the television didn't work but Hey! It's Halloween! MonsterFest is on AMC so Adrienne Barbeau will be screaming into that microphone in the fog for at least another seven days. That'll pass the time.

They brought me a sheet and blanket, and I really didn't mind that the Teflon content outweighed any cotton thread that might ever have been part of the product. There was a pillow and if they didn't have more than two ounces of dryer lint with which to fill it, well, I realize that at $42 for a bottle of aspirin they probably can't afford better. Point being, I was okay with all this. It's not the Waldorf Astoria (that's another post: My daughter's grandfather who sat with us while we waited, a money mover, had a client die this summer and her rent for the past 15 years had been $96,000 a month. She lived at the Waldorf Astoria.)

We settled in. Turns out, the plastic piece that holds the recliner in "recline" once you lean back? It was broken. Which meant that everytime I shifted position (which only happened twice, I DO learn) that baby snapped me into "Good Morning! Let's Sit Upright Suddenly!" position. The second time, after I mopped up the ice and bourbon (survival mode), I moved to Plan B.

There was a loveseat. I don't KNOW the exact measurement, arm to arm, of a loveseat but I can tell you that it is EXACTLY the length from the top of my head to the bottom of my butt. Leaving out, I don't have to add, legs. So I pulled the non-functioning sneaky recliner up to the end of the loveseat and put my legs there.

And then lay there all night thinking, "Adrienne Barbeau's worried about DEAD GUYS?"

No comments: