One of the thing I hate most about having to get up at a particular time is that I anticipate it so much (not in a good way) that I wake up before the alarm clock. 5:30. 6. 6:25. BINGO! Time to get up. At the last minute, I decided not to take my camera.
We drove all the way down to Moncton and tormented Addison with our easy-listening choice of music. He tried to torment us by listening to his music with headphones turned loud enough for us to hear, but the batteries in the CD walkman ran out after a few songs.
When we finally made our way to the other hospital, the teaching hospital connected to the university, I asked for directions at the front desk. She directed me to the “reception” area and I turned the corner into utter chaos. You know how on tv, during those one hour dramas when they show an inner-city hospital, with people everywhere milling around, all seats taken, staff going by, some of whom looked barely as old as Addison?
It was disturbingly like that.
A little old lady who looked like she should be knitting somewhere, or at least sitting down, wandered up to me and told me we should take a number. I did, and got 06. The big LED sign high on the wall said 72. Thankfully, twenty minutes later Addison was admitted and we were directed to follow the brown arrows on the floor. They led around the corner to another waiting room. This one smaller, so Ron said his goodbyes there and he went on his way.
Addison and I waited. They brought us in to the holding area and a nurse asked us a bunch of questions and explained the process. When she told us how the doctor would be by later as well, I had to ask her something. “Is the doctor’s accent any better in French?” Her answer was, unfortunately no. Even she has to listen hard to try and understand what the heck he is talking about.
We are in the only officially bilingual province in Canada, and thus all government services are available in English and French. We were also in a city with a high French population, and the univeristy is also French. The doctor, however, is neither French nor English.
Addison and I were sent back out to the waiting room to do what is done best there. Drive each other nuts!
They called us back in. This time, a different nurse asked us most of the same questions and told Addison he could get into a lovely and stylish johnny shirt. We waited some more. I started reading. Cranky McCrankypants didn’t feel like talking. I think he was a bit discomfited because he’s a big strong manly man and his mommy was there with him. (And when he reads this, I will hear him yell, “I was!” down the stairs.)
Finally the doctor showed up in a jovial mood. For some reason, he kept going on about ice cream. He gave us a brief rundown of the procedure, and declared his part would only take about ten minutes. Good for him. Then he told me to buy the boy whatever ice cream he wanted afterwards, and told Addison to stay away from women.
While we were waiting, an older baby came back from surgery, mad as all get-out and screaming at the top of his lungs. While him mother tried to soothe him, every other mom in the room subconciously rocked back and forth. I gave her the best sympathic and understanding smile I could. After a bit, the nurses found them a private room until he calmed down.
I read some more. Another nurse came by and asked Addison all the same questions. This time they varied it a bit with pulse and blood pressure. And then maybe a whole half-hour behind schedule, (which really, when you think of it was not all that bad,) they wheeled him over to Surgery. They even let me go in a bit and the nurse who pushed the bed said exactly how far I could go.
We got to wait in the hall then, right by the desk and the whiteboard. Addison was not up for doodling. I shared my experiences with anethesiologist by saying that he’d either get one with a wacky sense of humour, or one who was entirely humourless.
He got the latter.
After they wheeled him away, during which I did NOT even try to kiss him and he assured me that he would be FINE, mom, sheesh, I went off to find some lunch.
I went outside to orient myself and took a walk. I picked the wrong direction and walked all the way back and then some. I saw a whole lot of good or interesting photo opportunities. Finally, I made it to the Pizza Delight around the corner form the hospital and treated myself to the lunch buffet. Whoever came up with that idea is a GENIOUS. I even read my book while I ate (and ate) and felt very decadent. I evesdropped on the couple next to me, where the guy was telling his wife about the cost breakdown of setting up a clothesline. I resisted to urge to nudge him and say, “It’s a post or two and some string. Just suck it up and do it already.”
And just when I had mentally switched my brain to responding in French instead of English, the waitresses started talking to me in English first.
I walked back, found he was still in recovery, and waited some more. I discussed the wait time with the lady next to me and showed her the book I was reading. She was astonished I had got so far in it, (a hundred and twenty pages to that point) and asked exactly how early did we get there anyway? 8:45 and it was now past 1. We tsked tsked over that for a while.
They wheeled him back and I gathered up my things to join him and see how much he needed me. He didn’t, really. I hovered anyway. He just had a cold compress on his eye and you can’t see anything from the outside. Then I let the nurses hover over him. When they took out the IV and told him he could get dressed, I found him ready to leave. Carl had met up with us by then, for our drive back. They booted us out with a prescription for eye drops and an appointment to see the doctor on Friday.
Yay, we get to drive all the way down there again. Ga$ up the car. This time, I am writing down a bunch of questions so we don’t forget or get sidetracked in conversation (which isn’t hard with this guy).
Onthe way home, we stopped and got Addison a bruger from A&W. He immediately lifted the bun to see how it was put together. “How busy was it in there?” he asked me. I told them it wasn’t and in fact by the time I had the self-serve drinks filled, the burger and fries were on the counter. “Ah, sweet,” he nodded and smiled. “They do a good job?” I asked. “Oh yeah, perfect,” and he chowed down.
We both napped on and off on the way back home. Good thing Carl drove! We spent the rest of the day resting and eating.
Today Addison said his eye is still sore, and I imagine he’ll take it easy. It doesn’t seem to be near as bad as we thought it might be.