Who’s gonna drive you hoooooome, tonight?

Y’all remember that time Corwin broke my hand when I was trying to separate her and Lindy, and the ER docs kept asking me what happened and I was trying to be a little cagey with my answers because I didn’t want them to report my dog to Animal Control but all that did was make the staff think that my husband had broken my hand and they kept asking me (like, in the middle of talking about, say, my blood pressure, they’d ask me how I broke my hand again) and finally I broke down and said it was my dog and they all seemed a little disappointed?

That last day I was in the hospital (Tuesday? Wednesday? The last two weeks are a blur), once we knew I was going home, they kept asking me who was coming to pick me up. I’d alternately say “a friend” or “I think my housemate is” and they liked that about as much as the other ER with the answers about the broken hand, because they kept asking. Randomly. “Oh look how beautiful it is outside hey who’s coming to pick you up and what time will they be here?”

Here’s the thing. If you ask me a question, or I volunteer some info, and the info/answer I give is less than you want to hear, continuing to ask me usually isn’t going to help the situation. There is probably a reason I’m not telling you. Those reasons vary but might include

• I don’t like you and don’t want you up in my shit, so drop it
• I’ve already worked out the details and there’s nothing you can do to help me, so let’s drop it
• The details are still a little bit sketchy but just because I’m not talking to you about it doesn’t mean I’m not working on it
• I figure you’re probably going to give me advice I don’t want or need, so it’s better for everyone that we just drop it
• I figure you’re going to ask me a lot of questions about how I got to my answer and I don’t have the patience for that so drop it

In this case, the hospital told me they were letting me go and then started immediately on getting me out, which they said would take an hour. But maybe three hours. But probably only one hour. I knew Jeff was meeting with someone at Aunt Gay & Uncle Joe’s house and that meeting would probably still be going on at one hour from now, plus I thought they were doing lunch after, plus Jeff is almost always at least half an hour late to everything, so I asked if we could wait at least an hour before starting the paperwork, because the person picking me up was in the middle of something.

Sure, no problem. But he is coming to pick you up, right? What time?

Yes, he is coming to pick me up, I don’t know the exact minute and second, any more than you know the exact minute and second I’ll be let out of here. But he’ll be here. Can we dispense with the chatting and I can take a nap until then?

No. As a nurse I must now ask you a hundred questions about who is coming to pick you up and when they will be here.

Finally, really exasperated, I spewed out “Look, my housemate was going to come and pick me up but he’s in the middle of something that I don’t want him to drop, so if I’m ready at a time he’s ready, he can pick me up. And if not, my Aunt can pick me up. And if she can’t, my friend Val can pick me up as long as she can get me home before 4. And if not, my friend Robyn can pick me up but not until she gets off work at 5:30. And if none of THEM can pick me up, I could call Jenn. Or Stephanie. Or Erica. Or Other Erica. Or Lala. Or Diane. Or Lesley. Or Leslie. Or Other Leslie. Or Denise. Or Tarrant. Or Susan. Or Other Susan. Or Other Other Susan. Or Whitney. Or Heather. Or Ryan. Or Other Heather. Or Erin. Or Tommy. Or Crystal. Or Pat. Or Sarah. Or Kathy. Or Jordan. Or Kate and/or Bronny. Or Dan. Or Joe. Shit, I could probably call Kalpesh, or Patrick, or even Duane, in a pinch. I could call Jane and Allan, even though I haven’t talked to them in a while. I could even call Trista, although she lives in Palatka so it’d be quite the drive” and about ten names in she was laughing and trying to get me to stop listing people, but I kept going. BECAUSE MY POINT IS THAT I AM NOT LACKING FOR PEOPLE TO GET ME TO MY HOUSE. You kept hassling me to give you the answer you wanted so you’re gonna fucking listen to me give it to you. This is why when I give a short answer, a lot of follow-up questions are going to irritate me because I’ve already worked through that in my head and if you keep asking me, I’m going to snap at you, and then you will be sad.

Lord. Just give me an exact fucking time that I’m leaving and I’ll start going down the list! I know how hospitals work, you tell me “I’m going home soon” and “soon” is “five hours from now.” Maybe hospital staff don’t live in the real world but out here if you want to call someone for a last-minute ride you’d best have a time to give them. So let me know when I’m for real, for real, half an hour away from leaving, and I’ll call Jeff, and then everyone else on my list until I can find someone who can pick me up in half an hour.

Also, at the risk of repeating myself, I have lived in Gainesville since 1979. If you want a list of people I could call for a ride home from a hospital you’d best pour a drink and have a seat because it’s a long list. Gainesville people are good people. I’m even betting that I forgot about twenty people that I would have thought of five minutes later. And I didn’t include the friends I have who don’t drive/don’t have cars because they’d love to help me but then would feel bad that they couldn’t.

Having said all that… I get it. I really do. They don’t want people who have been really, deathly sick to just, like, walk out into the sun. They want someone to hand them off to. They want to know the patient is getting home safely. They want to know that someone else who maybe isn’t painkillered up to the gills to remember to stop and pick up prescriptions. They didn’t put all that work (some of them more than others) into saving my life just to have me walk back to my house and die of fatigue on the way. I get they need contacts and for me to make sounds of safety and security (hence all the questions about food insecurity and are you living in a safe home – questions I’ll get to in another post).

But they sure did seem more concerned about who was picking me up than about giving me a breakfast that would have put me into anaphylaxis had I eaten it. Maybe worry a little less about my personal life (which is solid) and a little more about food allergen communication in your own hospital (which seems to be … lacking).

Lordt.

PS. My friends are amazing, and wonderful, and caring, and generous with their hearts and their time, and I do not know why ANY of these golden jewels of people hang out with me and my bitter black sarcastic heart, but I do love them so. And I would drop anything at any moment and drive any of them anywhere they needed to be.