The New Terry Schivo!
The other day I had to go to the hospitol to fill out paperwork, get blood work done, ekg, x-rays, etc. for my upcoming surgery next week. I'm sitting with a nurse who is going over all the paperwork and disclaimers. "Have you ever had...?" She's checking off boxes as we go through every disease or condition known to mankind. Heart problems. No. Thyroid problems. No. Blackouts. No. Diabetes. No. Take any medications. (I kept expecting the question: ever slept with a stripper? Ok, you got me there...) Then, as she's reading all these things outloud, she gets to one and, in case anyone in the room was listening, she justs points at it. "Ever had any problems with this?" She's just read off everything from syphilis to Bubonic Plague and now she's trying to keep things quiet? She points at a word..."alcoholic." "Do you have any problems with this?" I say, "I, myself, don't have any problems with it..."
(On a side note, the nurse had the same first and last name as my very first serious girlfriend.)
So we're going through more questions and she asks, "do you have any religious affiliation or preference?" I answer, "no...hey, wait a minute! You just have that question on there in case something goes wrong in the operating room and somebody has to give me last rites!" She responded with a sheepish, "yeah."
Ok, let's get this straight. I'm going in for "relatively" minor surgery. It's not open heart or brain surgery or anything like that. (One ex-girlfriend of mine reads a lot of those UFO/weird theories/strange occurences mags and she once read an article on some wacky technique where they drill holes in your head to let out pressure or bad spirits or some such new age shit and she kept talking about how it would be cool to get it done. I'm thinking, that's the last thing a girlfriend of mine needs, another hole in the head...)
But surgery is surgery, and sometimes things go wrong. Now I'm not afraid to die. I just don't want it to hurt. So falling out of a plane is out. So is being beaten to death with a shovel. Dying on the operating table, while I'm completely zonked out, is no problem. What the hell do I care at this point? If you gotta go, then going while you're asleep or unconscious is the way to do it. And doctors are not perfect. So I'm letting everyone know, if something horrible goes wrong, and I end up on tubes and a respirator or I'm in a coma or some other such shit, pull the plug, baby!
There doesn't need to be a big debate. Someone just reach around my crying mom and grab the cord! "I'm sorry about your son, Mrs. Jett, but could you scoot over a bit..." Yank!
And for godsake, don't let any Republicans in the room! I don't have the energy for any of that "Other Side of the Mountain" bullshit! If it's time for me to go, it's time for me to go! What, I gotta stick around to see who's the next American Idol? Puh-leeze...
The other day I had to go to the hospitol to fill out paperwork, get blood work done, ekg, x-rays, etc. for my upcoming surgery next week. I'm sitting with a nurse who is going over all the paperwork and disclaimers. "Have you ever had...?" She's checking off boxes as we go through every disease or condition known to mankind. Heart problems. No. Thyroid problems. No. Blackouts. No. Diabetes. No. Take any medications. (I kept expecting the question: ever slept with a stripper? Ok, you got me there...) Then, as she's reading all these things outloud, she gets to one and, in case anyone in the room was listening, she justs points at it. "Ever had any problems with this?" She's just read off everything from syphilis to Bubonic Plague and now she's trying to keep things quiet? She points at a word..."alcoholic." "Do you have any problems with this?" I say, "I, myself, don't have any problems with it..."
(On a side note, the nurse had the same first and last name as my very first serious girlfriend.)
So we're going through more questions and she asks, "do you have any religious affiliation or preference?" I answer, "no...hey, wait a minute! You just have that question on there in case something goes wrong in the operating room and somebody has to give me last rites!" She responded with a sheepish, "yeah."
Ok, let's get this straight. I'm going in for "relatively" minor surgery. It's not open heart or brain surgery or anything like that. (One ex-girlfriend of mine reads a lot of those UFO/weird theories/strange occurences mags and she once read an article on some wacky technique where they drill holes in your head to let out pressure or bad spirits or some such new age shit and she kept talking about how it would be cool to get it done. I'm thinking, that's the last thing a girlfriend of mine needs, another hole in the head...)
But surgery is surgery, and sometimes things go wrong. Now I'm not afraid to die. I just don't want it to hurt. So falling out of a plane is out. So is being beaten to death with a shovel. Dying on the operating table, while I'm completely zonked out, is no problem. What the hell do I care at this point? If you gotta go, then going while you're asleep or unconscious is the way to do it. And doctors are not perfect. So I'm letting everyone know, if something horrible goes wrong, and I end up on tubes and a respirator or I'm in a coma or some other such shit, pull the plug, baby!
There doesn't need to be a big debate. Someone just reach around my crying mom and grab the cord! "I'm sorry about your son, Mrs. Jett, but could you scoot over a bit..." Yank!
And for godsake, don't let any Republicans in the room! I don't have the energy for any of that "Other Side of the Mountain" bullshit! If it's time for me to go, it's time for me to go! What, I gotta stick around to see who's the next American Idol? Puh-leeze...