After my close encounter with the simpleton in the waiting room, I was anxious to claim my husband and get the hell out of there, but that wasn't going to be easy.
I head back to the recovery room to find Rob lying in bed with a dopey smile on his face. Not feeling very sympathetic to his plight, considering what I had just gone through, I told him to hurry up and get dressed, we were leaving pronto.
At that moment a nurse came round the corner to inquire after the patient. I told her he was just fine and we were leaving, but she had other ideas. "Oh no dearie" she exclaimed - I just hate it when someone calls me dearie. "He isn't going anywhere with you. We will wheel him to the west entrance and you can meet him there with your vehicle." I look at her in horror and disbelief. I have absolutely no idea where to find the west entrance. I was born with no sense of direction (probably linked to the sympathy gene I'm missing too). On my own, I'd be lucky to find my way back to the parking garage.
I try to sound calm and rational, while feeling anything but. "Look at him" I wailed, "He's fine, and there's nothing wrong with his legs. If he can't walk I'll wheel him out myself". But she is having none of it. "Hospital rules state we must wheel him out". I turn to glare at my husband, expecting him to come to my aid, instead he lies there like a limp dick with a gormless grin on his face. He is not helping my argument at all and he will pay dearly for that betrayal.
I decide to appeal to the nurse's sympathy and try to explain the horrific encounter I'd just experienced in the waiting room, but she was having none of it. Arms folded across her starched chest, and a steely glint in her eye she had obviously stared down fiercer folk than I. However I was not going down without a fight, so I meekly admit defeated and as soon as her back was turned I hissed at my husband to get a move on. My plan was to be gone before she returned. But the bitch was wise to me and reappeared promptly with a wheelchair. I tried one last ditch argument for me to wheel him out, but it was in vain. I had no choice but to leave, muttering darkly under my breath.
Surprisingly, I made it back to the parking garage, and even found my van without too much effort and I was feeling pretty pleased with myself, but my troubles were just beginning. I don't know who designed that parking garage, but they were a masochist. I followed the signs for the exit but they just took me round and round in circles, and then round and round in circles again. I kept passing the same group of people and when I drove slowly by for the third time, they were looking nervously over their shoulders and I think calling security.
After about 10 minutes of driving aimlessly around the parking garage, I lucked upon the right trajectory for the exit. I was almost in tears. I had never been so happy in my life to see daylight. Now all I had to do was find the west entrance. Did I mention my lousy sense of direction ? By this time I was cursing my husband, the parking garage architect, the obnoxious nurse and the medical community in general. Fortunately I found the entrance without incident and there was Rob waiting in his wheelchair along with the porter assigned to transport him through the hospital - like he was any better at pushing a wheelchair than I was ? The porter was looking anxiously at his watch, whereupon my husband informed him that I had probably got lost in the parking garage. The porter actually thought he was joking and laughed. Bastard.
So there you have it, my traumatic trip to the hospital. Fortunately by the time Rob has to do this again, Lindsay will have her license and it will be her problem. Meanwhile, it is good to know that after 27 years of wedded bliss, I can still amaze my husband. He is astounded that I can write three posts about HIS colonoscopy, but still make it all about ME. That, my friends is known as Poetic License !
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