Hospital Daze

About a year and a half ago, I sat in the hospital while my husband had surgery.  I was so out of place, so uncomfortable.  I didn’t know how to get the cafeteria, how much the food was, IF it was even good… I felt nervous and lost and I wanted my Mommy.

Today I found myself walking the hospital halls like a regular VET.  I know where to get food, what tastes good, and how to find the gift shop from most any location.  Between having my husband’s surgery, having a BABY there and then enduring some hellish sort of Family Version of Hospital Renaissance, my hospital know how has become something like sanitized street savvy.

I can’t decide if it’s cool… or awful.

It’s both, really.  It’s both.

It’s cool to stroll the halls at midnight in your jammies and socks like you own the joint (because you ARE paying for what feels like an entire wing of hospital staff and gear).

It’s awful to try and work the hot cocoa machine and end up filling up two entire cups of White Chocolate Caramel Cappuccino only to pour them out because you don’t drink coffee, and when you finally get the hot chocolate you want spill it all over the cups which then have to be thrown out.

It’s cool to talk shop with the Physical Therapists like you KNOW a thing or two because you’ve been through the same routines so many times.

It’s awful to deal with elevators that close their doors so fast you invariably have your arm CHOPPED which sends your fruit salad FLYING everywhere.

It’s cool to take care of your Mom.

(Why does that sound so middle school?  Why does anything with “your mom” in it sound so middle school?)


All in all, I made it home and my kids were happy to see me for almost 5 whole seconds.


Watching my mom endure excruciating pain was awful (speaking of awful, as we were), and it reminded me to take better care of my bones which are predisposed to arthritis… and I don’t know if I’d told you this, but my joints hurt all the time.

(again, I feel stupid saying that and there’s a 12 year old boy somewhere out there laughing because I said “your mom” and “joints.”)

Seriously, they ache.  It hurts to bend, to run, to walk, to twist, to squat (it hurts to even THINK about that).  For a long time, I decided not to think about it because I knew if I didn’t… it would just go away.  Right?  That’s how stuff works, right?

Yeah, right.

And then I ignored it.  And then I went to a Dr. because my hip was out so badly it made living impossible.  He told me that I could most likely successfully gain a diagnosis for arthritis from a physician, but he could almost bet money on the fact that I was simply eating something my body didn’t like.

And that, boys and girls, is how I came to finally accept my fate (it seriously took me a month to finally start dabbling in this) (and that month included sitting in a room full of people who had just had surgery to replace joints) (joints, har har)… and I’m here to share it with you.


I’m going gluten-free.


I’m scared, and I’m also accepting donations because gluten-free stuff is esspensive.  But not as esspensive as hospital bills which I know all too much about.

After Mom comes home, I’m hoping to Dear John the hospital on behalf of our Hansen Family.

Dear Flag Medical Center,
It’s not you.  It’s Me.  I really need some space.  I know it isn’t ethical, but I’ll pay you off.
PS: Never change.  Every girl needs someone like you: ever available and stocked with gluten free cookies.

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