I ENJOY, NAY, LOVE GOING TO THE HOSPITAL for outpatient visits!  This has occurred since my return to Small Town, USA.  Over the past three years, between my brother’s kidney disease, my age problems and my daughter’s tendency to sprain her ankle, the visits have been so often, I now know the people in ER, Imaging, and Bloodletting so well, we have a party upon my arrival.

Oh, must not forget the lovely check-in lady, who begins the whole process.  This is my first conversation upon visiting her desk:

She:  Hello, Mrs. DiGiovanni, how are you today?

Me:  Darlin’, if I got any better, it would be a crime!

She (chuckling):  And what makes you feel so great?

Me:  I discovered where all the good-looking men hang out on Wednesday morning.  As a five-year widow, I tend to look around every now and then…just in case.

She:  You’ve got my interest.  I’m single, you know.  So give, where is the mega-market of men?

Me:  You guessed it.  They are at the supermarket.  And I’m not talking one or two; I’m talking gold mine, dear girl.

She:  Well, did you find one?

Me:  Not this trip, but there’s always next Wednesday.  There were one or two other women in there and, I have to tell you that this is better than watching the Dating Game!

She:  How so?

Me:  It seems at a certain age, both women and men develop ‘the pity walk’.

She:  The pity walk?

Me:  You’re way too young yet, but I’ll show you how it’s done.  (I went to the door of her office, bent over enough to look pitiful.  Added to this is a slightly more robust Tim Conway shuffle.)  

Me:  This is to beg for mercy from the bag boys and girls, hoping someone will take the bags out of the cart and put them in the car.  Thus, it is called the Pity Walk.

She:  Does it work?

Me:  It all depends on whether a good-looking man, or in the case of men, a good-looking woman shows up in the aisle, as you shuffle in the door.  At that point, all bets are off.

(I straighten up, pull in my tummy, put a swing in my hips a sixteen-year old would be proud to own.)

Me:  Now, if it’s a shuffling man, that beer belly raises up several inches, as he remembers what it was like to be in the military and trying to show the goods to the girls.  My, how that man can swagger.

She (laughing so hard, she couldn’t get my identification cards pushed through the machine) gasps:  Oh, my gosh!  That is priceless.

The best part was, dear readers, the check-in lady in the next cubicle and her gentleman client were laughing out loud, too.  He had come in looking solemn and sad, but we met out in the hallway, going to our various tests and all that sad was gone.

The MRI Specialist

Next, I met the delightful MRI specialist.  We are getting to be best buds at this point.

She: How are you today?

Me:  Thrilled to be alive and I got a new beau.

She:  Glad to hear that.  Is he nice?

Me:  We can talk ’til the cows come home and begged to be milked.

She:  Here are the usual questions – 1) Any false teeth since we last met?

Me:  No

She:  You know these as well as I do, so let’s skip to 2) Anything foreign been added inside your body?

Me:  Hon, I haven’t even made love since I last saw you, much less anything else foreign!

Young ladies can still blush, when an old lady hits one out of the park! Loved it.

From there on, it was pretty regular.  She put me on the table, put a cloth over my eyes (this is  great way to avoid claustrophobia, by the way), and slid me into the machine.  That is where I do most of my composing of the next fab post.  I got to thinking about this one and laughed so hard, we had to redo the test because my body was bouncing from laughter.

Once out of the machine, I filled her in on my last two ‘dates’, one of which I wrote about here.  You know, the bozo who decided I didn’t have to worry my little old brain about politics and religion.  Just let it be said, we did not last more than one date.

The next one thought conning a store out of a refund was so much fun, it seems he did it often.  Kind of reminds me of the running joke about a woman buying a dress she can’t afford, wears it once to a special function and takes it back, giving some false excuse. I don’t laugh at that one either. Not into thievery.

Greeting Other Patients

Back out in the waiting room, I spied a young mother with a five-month old who had a smile that was going to melt the girls’ hearts later in life.

Me:  Is he always this pleasant?

She:  Most of the time he is.  Gets a little whiny when he’s hungry.

Me:  My first cried for a year, but I had no clue what to do with a baby once I had it.  Had never babysat or been around little kids much.  In fact, I can only remember once when I was about twelve that anyone was silly enough to trust me with a baby.

(If these were a movie, the flashback would appear here.)

Me:  I was asked to take a 2-year old boy cousin to the bathroom, so the womenfolk could keep chattering.  I took him in, closed the door and waited and waited and waited.  He was taking an awful long time and I wanted to hear the women talk, so I eased back into the kitchen.

It is amazing how small a person tries to shrink when five women turn to her with one tiny question.  “Where’s the Baby?”  

Every eye of those women accused me, before I spoke.  “He’s still in the bathroom.  I got tired of waiting for him.”

“YOU DID WHAT?”  The stampede did not take long, from kitchen to potty.  Every item in the bathroom resided in the toilet – except for the pee and poop, which somehow landed on the floor.

“Didn’t you go in with him?”

“Goodness NO!  He’s a boy!”

So ended my first and last joy of babysitting.  The story later became an embarrassing favorite.

At that moment, the sweet MRI lady brought my MRI disc to present to the doctor.  And so ended my fantastically enjoyable trip to the hospital Outpatient Center.

When you go to the Outpatient Center, what is your first move?

a)  Pick up a germ laden magazine and thumb through it, possibly cutting out a puzzle, recipe or article to bring the germs home to your family;

b) Find something funny to relate to your fellow outpatients and remove the sour looks from their faces;

c) Spend your time with anti-bacterial cloths, wiping germs off each page of a magazine, which will result in one pitiful looking mess of pages.

If you picked b), CONGRATULATIONS!  You are on your way to the enjoying your visits to the hospital.  Have fun!