I told you last week about my thrilling adventure in Sutter Hospital. One thing led to another and, after a minor procedure, I was dying. One of the excellent nurses Sutter has, Dorothy, came in and saw my heart monitor going crazy. It must have looked bad to her. She called Francis, the head nurse. As soon as Head Nurse Francis arrived, Dorothy went away. I didn’t understand why she left at that moment when I needed all the help I could get. Later I knew why she had disappeared.
For the reader to better understand our conversations and their interest in my case, let me say I am a friendly sort. I got to be friends with all the people who helped me. Nurse Dorothy and Head Nurse Francis were my friends as well as my caregivers. Head Nurse Francis studied the heart monitor and took my pulse. After all my years on this blue planet I have learned to read faces. I could read her face. It wasn’t good for this old farmer.
“Where did Dorothy go?” I asked Nurse Francis.
“Probably the ladies room,” she replied shortly as she called the doctor on her cellphone.
I knew where Dorothy went. She thought I was about to die. Being the kind person Dorothy was, a patient she had come to know well and my friend, she was off somewhere trying to collect her professional self.
When she came back a minute later, and as the two nurses waited for the doctor, their concern was plain. They knew I was in serious trouble. I decided what I must do.
With each of the girls (since I was nearly 90, to me they were girls, younger than my daughters) on either side of my bed, I gave them a dying man’s order.
“Take my hand,” I said to each.
They did, and I told them a story I had written recently.
They listened. Five minutes later, before the doctor had a chance to break up our party, two things happened. They were calm and, by some miracle, my heart had stopped its wild gyrations. It was beating the way it should. The heart monitor had slowed to a level, steady, normal beat. My small crisis was over. Thereafter I improved rapidly. In another four days I went home.
This true story, with all its warts, was an experience I’m glad I had. It was a happening, if I have my druthers, I would not wish to repeat for love or money. Most of all, it is one example of the excellent care a sick or injured person will receive in Lake County.
How I managed to attract those bugs is a mystery to me to this day. Right off the bat, let me say and reaffirm, that veteran’s hospital is a good one. It is one of the best in the nation. Their doctors and nurses are second to none. Such things happen no matter how careful the surgeon or the caretakers may be. Unfortunately, any hospital, as necessary and as careful as they are, can be a dangerous place. For Cleo, my cat, who needs me, it all came out just fine. That should reassure anyone planning a vacation in a hospital bed Sutter will give you a fine ride.
Gene Paleno is an author and illustrator living in Witter Springs.
