It is no wonder that the truth
Is stranger than fiction.
Fiction has to make sense.
Mark Twain
October 6th, 2009
Picture this, "UGGGHHHH, ahhhhhh, OOOOOOO, UGGGGG."
Ongoing, in an infinite loop.
Well, that describes Jess's new roommate.
For twelve hours, at the top of his lungs, he is screaming in agony.
Non-stop for what seems like eternity.
Nobody acknowledges or responds to his cries.
Jess and I combined got maybe five minutes sleep last night.
Imagine, during your only five minutes' sleep, you get the feeling someone is watching you, only to open your eyes to see an old naked man pulling an IV pole, asking you for a drink of water.
This is insane.
But I also see this as an opening to try to get a private room.
So I buzz the nurse and explain to her that I do not feel comfortable having my daughter, who cannot move, in the same room as an old naked man who arbitrarily walks around the room at night.
For a little emphasis I add, "I don't know what I'll do if it happens again."
The nurse, who says she understands, walks over to the phone in the room, picks up the receiver and says,
"Dr. Heavy to room 212 please."
Dr. Heavy is the hospital jargon for security.
"Did you just call security on me?" I bewilderingly ask.
"Mr. Passaro, we do not take lightly when someone makes a direct threat to one of our patients."
"Ok, so I get it now. It's OK to have a elderly male, who has a female roommate, walk around the room, naked, but if I say "I don't know what I'll do if it happens again," then I'm the one who is wrong."
After security speaks with me and realizes I am not a terrorist or an angel killer, he shuts the lights and leaves the room.
"UGGGHHHH, ahhhhhh, OOOOOOO, UGGGGG."
It starts again.
My first thought is... security should have taken the pillows with him.
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