If I ever decide to become a professional blogger (a girl can dream, can’t she?) – I am going to spend my days driving people home from colonoscopy appointments.
Actually, Rita was better than most at the conclusion of her mid-century milestone. That might be due to her impeccable preparation – she had been eating white foods for the better part of a week (although there was some controversy about whether white wine constituted a clear liquid) and I think she fasted an extra 12 hours just for good measure.
When I went to pick up Little Miss Compliant in the recovery room, she was still recuperating from the fantastic anesthetic they use. “How are you feeling Rita?” “STONED!” came the reply from behind the flimsy sheet/curtain down the hall. (Of course, I had been talking to what turned out to be a total stranger laying there in the recovery room because everyone looks alike when they’re asleep under a blanket & wearing those little blue surgical hats.)
When I finally found the CORRECT patient, the nurse was there to explain the results and the post-procedure instructions. “The anesthesia has amnesiac qualities so don’t be surprised if she forgets things this morning. Also, no important decisions today. And most importantly, no polyps or bad results of any kind – isn’t that right Rita?”
“That’s right – a clean bill of health! But why did you wake me up…I want to SLEEP. How can I get some of that anesthesia stuff for home?” Ummmm, Michael Jackson tried that, remember? "By the way,” she asked me, “how was your conference call?” (so thoughtful, asking about MY morning when she’d just had her colon blown up like a birthday balloon.)
And then we rolled outta there. Rita immediately put on her larger-than-life sunglasses and starting dozing off in the passenger seat, and I focused on taking full advantage of the anesthesia – “What are you getting me for Christmas? Is that ‘special’ wine for me really the good stuff??”
She didn’t come across with any good information, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t Chatty Patty (or more accurately, Slow-talking Stoner Stacie) – “I want spaghetti for lunch. Hey how was your conference call? Did they find any polyps?” I hated to not honor the lunch request but spaghetti at 9:45 in the morning was going to be a challenge. We headed off to Little Italy where Rita insisted on going with me to look for an open restaurant.
As she drunkenly careened back and forth down the sidewalk, I tried to make sure her hospital ID bracelet was visible (so that maybe people wouldn’t think she’d just had a bottle of wine for breakfast and headed out in her sweat pants and bleary-eye-covering-sunglasses). We eventually found an open restaurant and I parked her at an outside table while I went in to order (fingers crossed that no one steals her while I am ordering her breakfast pasta because she was asleep before I hit the door). When I came back with the food, however, she had been looking at the menu and was happy to report (after asking me about my conference call and the results of her test) that she thought she was going to make red-sauce pasta for dinner tonight and then a “white sauce” lasagna tomorrow night. I guess if I had just been through a colon blow, I’d want to carbo-load too. Unfortunately, however, it appeared I wasn’t going to see a pasta-free meal until this anesthesia was gone.
By this stage, the inquiries about the conference call had lasted longer than the call itself and she was still dying to know about the results of her test so I thought it was time to get home and put her to bed.
Where visions of linguini danced in her head.
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