Tomorrow I’m having back surgery to replace some hardware, and fix some other stuff. I’m looking forward to not feeling like I’m one hundred and twelve years old. One can dream.
I’m understandably a little anxious, but whatever happens tomorrow will invariably beat my last back surgery.
My former spine surgeon is a talented guy. He builds things out of titanium and plants them in your body and you're able to walk, when once you might have had a lot of trouble getting around. But he wanted to do my most recent surgery in a hospital that was about to shut down and change hands. In fact, I was the last living patient in the entire facility.
Okay, there was one Other Guy — but his family was just waiting for the doors to close so they could unplug him. I'm not being funny: This was actually the case.
The surgery was scheduled to be completed by mid-morning, and I was supposed to be able to leave before dinner.
Didn't happen that way.
I ended up staying for FIVE DAYS.
The place was completely deserted. There was yellow caution tape criss-crossed over the doors of the offices and rooms that had already been cleaned and sanitized. There weren't any doctors there, except one that was under contract to watch over me and the Other Guy. My own doc had left the country on vacation with his family, because he hadn't expected me to be hanging out there for so long.
The hallways were always dark, except directly in front of the room in which I was enjoying my stay. The same three nurses were always somewhere nearby, and two physical therapists would visit daily and make me hobble around the eerie, shadowed halls with my walker.
The only people who visited were the Other Guy's wife, my family, and our pastor. Everyone always looked very uncomfortable to be paying a visit, during my time at Casa de Creepy.
The night before I was able to leave I had to sleep in a different room — because they were scheduled to renovate mine.
In the morning, there was yellow tape over my former door. Needless to say, I was thrilled to be given my walking papers. As I limped toward the exit, I passed the Other Guy's room. His family was saying goodbye.
If that hospital wasn't haunted when I got there, it surely is now.
Here’s to a less exciting stay!
I’m understandably a little anxious, but whatever happens tomorrow will invariably beat my last back surgery.
My former spine surgeon is a talented guy. He builds things out of titanium and plants them in your body and you're able to walk, when once you might have had a lot of trouble getting around. But he wanted to do my most recent surgery in a hospital that was about to shut down and change hands. In fact, I was the last living patient in the entire facility.
Okay, there was one Other Guy — but his family was just waiting for the doors to close so they could unplug him. I'm not being funny: This was actually the case.
The surgery was scheduled to be completed by mid-morning, and I was supposed to be able to leave before dinner.
Didn't happen that way.
I ended up staying for FIVE DAYS.
The place was completely deserted. There was yellow caution tape criss-crossed over the doors of the offices and rooms that had already been cleaned and sanitized. There weren't any doctors there, except one that was under contract to watch over me and the Other Guy. My own doc had left the country on vacation with his family, because he hadn't expected me to be hanging out there for so long.
The hallways were always dark, except directly in front of the room in which I was enjoying my stay. The same three nurses were always somewhere nearby, and two physical therapists would visit daily and make me hobble around the eerie, shadowed halls with my walker.
The only people who visited were the Other Guy's wife, my family, and our pastor. Everyone always looked very uncomfortable to be paying a visit, during my time at Casa de Creepy.
The night before I was able to leave I had to sleep in a different room — because they were scheduled to renovate mine.
In the morning, there was yellow tape over my former door. Needless to say, I was thrilled to be given my walking papers. As I limped toward the exit, I passed the Other Guy's room. His family was saying goodbye.
If that hospital wasn't haunted when I got there, it surely is now.
Here’s to a less exciting stay!
Wowee, I can just feel the ghosts in the hallways of that hospital. Hope your next recovery is brief and less creepy!
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