A Belly Dancer's Belly Aching: Observations From My Hospital Bed.
For those of you who know me, either personally or thru my writings and internet interactions, it would come as no surprise to discover that I have some type A personality traits. Not a full-blown go-go-go, short-fused, hypertension person, but if you need to rally the troops and get things done? I'm your girl! Having trouble executing a project? I'll be there, sizing it up and formulating a plan to get from point A to point B effectively.
How do I know I am not a FULL blown type A? Because I took 3 quizzes on the internet. Yep, the world's most reliable source for infinite knowledge and wisdom...internet quizzes. All 3 came back negative, meaning that although I have some type A traits, I'm not a complete B!#@% (that's a little paraphrase for you). And we all know that everything on the internet - quizzes included - is totally trustworthy.
Despite my strong personality, when it comes to dealing with others' "inefficiencies" I'm usually quite patient. It's their business, right? Who cares. However...if those things cause a break from my work or a blip in my schedule, bye bye patience! You can dilly dally all you want, but I'm not tagging along for the ride.
Knowing this about myself, what happened when I was admitted to the hospital this week wasn't too terribly surprising. Let me be clear that I'm okay with the usual "hurry up and wait" routine we're all familiar with at medical centers. I was ready to chill out and make myself at home. That is, until Nurse N came along.
Nurse N was a very nice lady, but the following is what gave me a run for my money (and my sanity, at that). While questioning me with the standard admittance form, Nurse N asked the following:
"Have you ever committed suicide?"
Wow. If you can't look at me and know the answer to that Q, we have a problem.
Then, a little later, while assessing my medical background:
Nurse N: "These next questions will be about your family history."
Me: "Oh this will be quick. I don't know anything, I'm adpoted."
As I sat back in my bed, happy to eliminate a good 5 - 10 minutes from the inquisition, she continued, "Oh hun, that's okay," as if adoption were some horrible life tragedy.
"Now, has your mother or any other female in your family been diagnosed with the following...?"
I thought she was joking, so I giggled.
She wasn't laughing.
I shut up.
Politely, I responded that I do not know my biological family.
I like to think that I'm a smart gal. I know who's in the driver's seat when it comes to patient care in a hospital: the nursing staff. You can make all the orders you want, but THEY are the ones to administer them. Nurse N was the gatekeeper to my pain meds...and I wanted my meds. That was enough motivation for me to at least appear to be cordial and sane.
After keeping my cool throughout that debacle, I developed a newfound respect for pin cushions. You know the saying, "If at first you don't succeed, try,try again"? Well, that should never be applied to administring an IV. Dear lord, thank you for my ability to speak foreign languages! Being able to express myself in Turkish proved to be very helpful during her 3 agonizing attempts.
But I digress. The important thing is that I'm back home now and I can finally get back on "Dilara time." I think I learned a valuable lesson this week, though - hospitals were not made for type A individuals or the Fabulously-Amazing and Super-Awesome Non-B!#@% Belly Dancers, such as myself. Oh, about those other descriptive words about me, I didn't make those up. That's the other stuff those internet quizzes said about me. I'm merely quoting facts. I love those quizzes.
