"The Boyfriend needs some ink work done to re-establish tat dominance in his relationship."Heh heh heh...
I took off from work today to take a friend in for an outpatient procedure to patch up a pesky hernia. They whisked him away at eleven for a surgery that was supposed to take sixty to ninety minutes.
Note that I used the word "supposed". This is to signify a plot twist. Hold on to your panties.
After the surgery, he was to go into recovery for approximately one hour. When I saw that the clock read noon-thirty, I assumed everything was going according to plan.
Note that I used the word "assumed". This is to confirm the previously mentioned plot twist.
A little after one o' clock, I was told that they were closing him up.
Around two o' clock, the doctor came to speak with me. They were gonna operate this way, but then decided to do it that way, but before doing it that way, they decided to do this and that and the other, and so my friend would now be staying overnight. I was a tad concerned, so I just sat back to wait.
Finally, some time after three o' clock, they came to inform that he had been admitted to such and such room on this floor. I went in search of the broken warrior (he's had surgery twice before, one for a torn ACL, the other for his meniscus, same knee), and found him snoozing away. I asked him if he'd gotten the update. He frowned at me in confusion, and I explained to him what was up, wondering why he hadn't been informed while in recovery. He was displeased to hear of the turn of events. We sat down to wait for the doctor.
And we waited.
And waited some more. So he pressed the handy dandy nurse button on his magic remote.
And did some more waiting before he pressed the button again.
A sharp voice came over an intercom we couldn't see asking what he needed. He asked for morphine, and she cut him off and said his nurse would be in shortly. She was paged, and a round, pleasant woman came bustling in to inform him he'd get his magic drug shortly. He asked her why he was staying over night, and she had to admit that she hadn't the foggiest. But she did provide the phone number for the doctor, which his wife had requested when she had called a short while beforehand to raise hell. She bustled out again, and returned a short time later with the morphine goodness.
It is almost seven o' clock now, and we have yet to hear from the doctor. They finally brought my friend something to eat, but have yet to explain to him, the patient, what happened during the procedure and why he is being kept over night. Yes, I know what happened, I know why, but I'm not the damned doctor. It is not my responsibility to tell the man this stuff. That for his worthless doctor to tell him. Gr.
Did I mention I got a speeding ticket today?? Woot.