Ravdin #645

What is it about hospitals that makes everyone lose all their inhibitions as soon as they put on a plastic bracelet with their name and birth date typed on it? Is there anywhere else where you'd suddenly strip down to nakedness, put on a gown made of cotton so thin you can practically see through it, the design of which seems more suited to expose rather than to cover, and then voluntarily relinquish your body to be poked, prodded, invaded and manipulated by the hands of multiple strangers? Well, Hedonism in Jamaica, maybe?...Or spring break anywhere.
The phonomenon of the hospital is quite fascinating. You give yourself over to the care of complete and total strangers. Granted, these strangers are highly trained and educated experts in various specializations of poking and prodding, but it's interesting how...when it comes down to it and your life is potentially on the line, it's in the hands of strangers.
What's also interesting about the hospital experience is that, in addition to inhibitions, all vanity goes right out the window. I just spent 48 hours in Ravdin Rm. #645...where my brother was recovering from surgery and I was there for support and company. As a very single and perfectly healthy 37 year old woman, you would think I would have made more of an effort. After all, everywhere I turned I saw handsome doctors! But, I was in hospital mode...in sweats, sleeping intermittently in a recliner in between intrusive visits during all hours of the night, and laying around in a second-hand morphene daze, getting vertical only to make the trek down to the cafeteria to purchase my next heart attack on a plate or, as they called it, hospital cafeteria food. Don't get me wrong, it all looked quite tasty, but you'd think these white coats would be a little more health conscious than to be subsisting on pepperoni pizza, cheeseburgers, cheesesteaks and onion rings.
I guess when you're in the hospital the last thing you care about is how you look or what's hanging out of your paper thin gown. You have more important things on your mind...like survival.
As soon as we got home from the hospital today, I took a much needed shower, put on some make-up and went shopping while my brother napped. He is fine, just needs R&R. After a few hours of meaningless retail therapy I returned to his apartment, where he was resting comfortably in bed. A friend of his asked if I wanted to go out on the town with her and check out the scene in Philly. As much as I would have loved to go to a place called Swanky Bubbles (I mean, the place could only be more aptly named for me if it were called "Swanky Bubbles Dipped In Chocolate With A French Pedicure") to see and be seen while drinking champagne and eating decadent food, I knew it wouldn't compare to sitting on the couch all night writing and listening to my brother snore next to me as he somehow managed to watch the baseball game with his eyes closed. Six hours later, as I sit here in the dark, listening to him alternately snore, momentarily talk to me from his Percocet fog, roll over and go back to snoring, I was right.
Maybe if we always wore plastic bracelets with our names and birthdays typed on them we could keep a clearer perspective on things...what's important, what's not, where we really want to be, where we probably shouldn't be.
Maybe when you're in the position of relying on the kindness, and the expertise, of strangers it makes what's really important all the more clear. Health and Time.