Where I Am: In the Post Anaesthesia Care Unit

What I’m Doing: Annoying my freshly-operated-upon Mother

My mother’s surgery went flawlessly. The only hitches throughout the day were due to the insane internal logic of hospitals:

1) There will always be more patients than beds. There will always be more beds than rooms.

This is nothing new. No matter what the situation, there has always been a minimum one-to-two hour wait to be admitted and get your bed. Once you’ve got your bed and they’re done poking and prodding you, there’s a minimum of a four hour wait to get a room.
2) Time is so relative it’s useless.

My mother was scheduled to go in at 9 am and come out at 12 pm. She went in at 10 am (not bad) and we got out first update as to what had gone on at 2:15 pm. We got to see her at 3:30 and were told she would have a room by 4:30 pm. She got her room at 8:30 pm. All this on top of the fact her doctor told her she would be out of the hospital within three hours of her operation. They told her when she was checked in she’d be staying over at least one night, possibly two.

3) Nothing is ever, simple ever and/or They should’ve caught this sooner.

My mother is 53 years old. She’s had several operations over the years. They noticed this time, for the first time, that she has a heart murmur. Seven of her 13 siblings have heart murmurs, so presumably this has been checked for in her lifetime (this is almost a certainty as when it was announced that she had one, my grandmother told them it was impossible as she was one of the ones that didn’t, and proceeded to list the ones that did as proof).

4) Is this unpleasant enough?

For some insane reason, the televisions (which are in every room, ready and waiting) are a pay service. The phones I understand, it does cost the hospital money each time you use them. The televisions do not. In order to get the television to work, the onscreen instructions say you’ve got to call extension 8200. Extension 8200 just rings until you give up. The operator says that the system does this a lot and you just have to keep trying. Trying until you give up. The nurse says that I shouldn’t be calling extension 8200, I should be getting a prepaid card from a machine down the hall in the room that smells like pee. I do. In order to use that card, I have to call extension 8200. My mom decided to read instead.

I imagine that hospitals like this one run entirely on the fact that if people turn out alright, they’re just happy it’s over with and if they don’t, they’re dead so they got away with it.