(no subject)

[malsperanza]

The fancyass research hospital where my mother is duking it out with her white blood cells has an indy bookshop, a cashpoint, valet parking (supposedly; I haven't seen any valets yet), and family waiting rooms with cherrywood paneling and overstuffed plush sofas. Magnificent views of the city. There are lithographs of the Tuilleries and Parc Montsouris on the walls. Most of the families in the room outside the isolation floor (one would not call it anything so tacky as a "ward") seem to be discussing money. They have laptops and spreadsheets; they are on the cellphone with cousin Mike about shifting investments from commercial real estate to something else. It could not be more creepy.

When I think of the public hospital where P. practiced for years, with its wan fluorescent lights and chipped plastic chairs and scuffed linoleum and the homeless men borrowing a few minutes out of the cold in the E.R., I am reminded of the reason I abandoned the freelance life for a straight job: health insurance
health insurance
health insurance.


Conversation with mum

Mum: The food in here is terrible.

Me (drawing feebly upon the worst of all perky hospital cliches): That's because you wouldn't leave otherwise. You have premium cable in here.

Mum (poking food): Find a better line. Listen, would you go downstairs to Au Bon Pain and get me some seafood chowder and a decent cup of coffee?

Me: There's an Au Bon Pain in this place?

Mum: On the second floor, next to the Starbuck's. Why?

Me: You don't see any peculiarity in a hospital having a coffee shop called The Good Pain?

Mum: Everyone in this a hospital is fluent in French; they know perfectly well what "pain" means.

Me: The patients too?

Mum: Of course. As soon as I'm not neutropenic any more, I'm signing up for the Tuesday night tango lessons. While you're there, could you also get me a coke?

Me: A coke? You hate coke.

Mum: I have leukemia. I can drink whatever the hell I want.

Me: It will replace your leukocytes with glucocytes.

Mum: Then I will be a true American: red-blooded and dripping with syrup.

Me: You realize that I am never going to let you forget this.

Mum: If you bring back Pepsi, I'm changing my will.

Comments

[black-dog.livejournal.com]

If it's possible to become enchanted with someone based on a reported conversation, I think I like your mother. I hope she's feeling well and getting taken good care of.

And I'm with her on the subject of hospital accommodations. Why shouldn't they have a Starbucks and a decent chain of sandwich restaurants? The only time I was ever in the hospital, I was a bit unclear on the concept, myself. I woke up at 7 am, was bored, and wandered off to a cafeteria in the neighboring medical center, where I loaded up on french toast with syrup, sausages, and tomato juice. The staff was not pleased with me when they came to check my blood, later.

Still, the idea of managing one's investments from the waiting room of an ICU is, as you say, creepy. There's such a thing as carrying normalcy too far. Though if I had investements, who knows? Managing them might be therapeutic in times of stress.

[malsperanza.livejournal.com]

If it's possible to become enchanted with someone based on a reported conversation...

...fueled by an enviable cocktail of dilaudid, percoset, atavan, and darvon. The sudden desire for a whacking great dose of caffeine on top of it was a little startling.

Mum is doing much better, home now, thank you.

And I'm with her on the subject of hospital accommodations. Why shouldn't they have a Starbucks and a decent chain of sandwich restaurants?

To be sure. I was grateful for Starbuck's meself, what with all the running through airports on weekends. Coffee with a nice oilslick on top, mmm.

[chresimos.livejournal.com]

Wow. Never knew that there were hospitals that came with restaurants. O_o

*cheers on your mother* Take down the nasty white blood cells, take them down!

Snarky mums on the go

[tipgardner.livejournal.com]

Glad to hear that your mother is doing better. Which hospital was she in? A close relative of mine had lymphoma but is in remission. At any rate, if you care about the will, I suppose you better keep plying her with Cokes and letting her be the all American woman she apparently has always wanted to be.