So as many of you know, my mom suffered a stroke a few months back. She has been progressing well, however she is still in a rehab hospital. Thankfully the stroke did not affect her mental acuity... or her sense of humor. What follows is a true account of the events of this evening.
Lisa and I are visiting mom, catching up and generally shooting the breeze when her nurse comes in to check on her. Mom inquires if the nurse has heard back from the Dr. She had requested an Imodium (anti-diarrhea) earlier this evening. The nurse said that he had left a message with the service but had not gotten a response. He added that they needed a Dr's okay to even give the patient a cough drop. With that, mom proceeds to ask the nurse to take down a number that she says is one of her doctors direct numbers, which he does. At this point, I can already see where this is going. Mom then proceeds to give the nurse her in-room number. The nurse leaves and not a minute later mom's phone rings. Mom and Lisa are stifling laughter as I pick up the phone "This is Dr. Stone" (Stone being the last brand of beer that I have had. Anyway, I digress...) the nurse tells me how he called and left a message with the service earlier and had not gotten an answer. I apologize and tell him that I see a notation. The nurse then asks me if Felicia can have an Imodium as she is having bowel issues. I tell the nurse that one tablet PRN (by mouth) will be fine. He asks me for my name and I tell him "Dr. George Stone" He thanks me and we hang up.
Five minutes later, he comes into the room and tells mom that he called the Dr. Mom says "oh Dr. Stone?" to which the nurse says "yes, he apologized about not getting back to me sooner but one Imodium per day would not be a problem. Here you go.
Mom will not be running to the bathroom tonight!
Saturday, September 24, 2011
Monday, September 19, 2011
Stroke rehab sucks!
Post stroke rehab sucks! And I don't just mean the physical and mental hurdles; the facilities suck too.
More to follow...
More to follow...
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Sitting at the same bar a few day later....
Tonight after getting Mom settled with dinner at her, second, post stroke rehab; Lisa and I decided to head back to one of our favorite restaurants for a quick bite and a few pints. Hoping this time not to run into "Frank" Fate was on our side; Frank had indeed been there and had only just left before we arrived. Lisa and I decide to sit closer to the service end of the bar, it tends to be closer to normal.
Soon after a couple in their late 70's or early 80's sits down next to us. She orders a a double Absolute with water on the rocks; he orders a ginger-ale with a side of water; I only catch a few words, here and there. I did hear her tell her fellow octogenarian, while the were discussing the restaurants background music. "That is Rufus with Chaka Khan...1973 Damn if she was not right! It was 74 but what he Hell, close enough.
Well our octogenarian had missed the course on how much perfume, par fume or ode d toilet to apply. Tables around us could no longer taste our food as this heavy cloud lingered over our heads, threatening to suffocate us at any moment.
To our left was the service bar and as it was the end of the night, gradually the kitchen staff came out to have a beer before heading home. Over the many we years we have gotten to know many of the kitchen staff and often have a brief chat with them. Tonight was no different; We had several great conversations about sausages, foie gras and brown butter gastriques. Restaurant names were scribbled and promises of attendance assured. As the evening wore on more of the kitchen staff emerged. They grabbed a beer and joined our
conversation. In Spanish, English and Gibberish we talked about food...and a little Phillies and Eagles. Despite our many differences, we had a strong bond, a food bond. There was a respect that transcended all cultural class distinctions about money, it was about food. Here we were among friends. Once a dish was mentioned...say sauerkraut; each person, in turn, explained their favorite way to cook it and why. Others disagreed but in the end agreed that it was perfect for it's application
Frank had left much earlier; Frank hates Parmesan crusted truffle fries! That was a great night at a restaurant.
Soon after a couple in their late 70's or early 80's sits down next to us. She orders a a double Absolute with water on the rocks; he orders a ginger-ale with a side of water; I only catch a few words, here and there. I did hear her tell her fellow octogenarian, while the were discussing the restaurants background music. "That is Rufus with Chaka Khan...1973 Damn if she was not right! It was 74 but what he Hell, close enough.
Well our octogenarian had missed the course on how much perfume, par fume or ode d toilet to apply. Tables around us could no longer taste our food as this heavy cloud lingered over our heads, threatening to suffocate us at any moment.
To our left was the service bar and as it was the end of the night, gradually the kitchen staff came out to have a beer before heading home. Over the many we years we have gotten to know many of the kitchen staff and often have a brief chat with them. Tonight was no different; We had several great conversations about sausages, foie gras and brown butter gastriques. Restaurant names were scribbled and promises of attendance assured. As the evening wore on more of the kitchen staff emerged. They grabbed a beer and joined our
conversation. In Spanish, English and Gibberish we talked about food...and a little Phillies and Eagles. Despite our many differences, we had a strong bond, a food bond. There was a respect that transcended all cultural class distinctions about money, it was about food. Here we were among friends. Once a dish was mentioned...say sauerkraut; each person, in turn, explained their favorite way to cook it and why. Others disagreed but in the end agreed that it was perfect for it's application
Frank had left much earlier; Frank hates Parmesan crusted truffle fries! That was a great night at a restaurant.
Sitting at the bar...
The other evening, I found myself sitting at a bar with Lisa (I know this comes as a shock to most of you). It is actually a fine dining restaurant but we like sitting at the bar, it's a nice big solid mahogany bar with comfortable stools and just and all around good feel. As we sit at the bar there is a row of high top tables behind us. The bar is full and the high tops are sparsely seated. A few seats down from us we hear a small clatter, I turned to see that a cane which had been hanging on the back of a chair, had fallen. Sitting damn near back to back with the old guy whose cane fell was a nicely dressed woman in her late 40's or early 50's. She looks down at the cane, up at the old guy and then turns back to continue her conversation with her companion. Fucking bitch! What is wrong with people?
With the cane picked up I returned to my seat... right next to me was one of the most annoying people that I have ever met. I'm sure you know this type of jackass, the guy who holds a conversation with everybody within earshot, though no one really wants to engage him. The type of guy that says random, oddball shit that only he finds funny and then laughs inappropriately loud and long. He actually blurted out this gem for no apparent reason "My Indian Name is, Drives women away" Not that we needed him to tell us that. At one point I picked up my phone, because I'm addicted to it like crack and need to "check-in" every 20 minutes or so. The dick-wad next to me (I should give him a name... Frank) Frank sees me on the phone and says "You must be on a date, how's it going" followed by his shrill laughter. Now we are not friends with Frank, however we have been going to this same restaurant for close to 20 years, we know each other. He knows that we are married and have been together for 28 years. Frank thinks he is fucking hysterical.
Frank decides to order a shit-load of fried shrimp and crab and artichoke dip with extra lump crab on top, for all of the people seated in his immediate vicinity. This was actually a very nice gesture; it almost made sitting next to him bearable. I declined as did Lisa (Lisa is allergic) I only bring this up because I want to paint a complete picture for you. This place aint cheep, he spent close to $200.00 on those appetizers alone. He actually seems to have befriended an older gay couple, sitting to his right. Or they were just being polite.
I cannot help but overhear a good part of his conversation. He is referring to an auction. He keeps repeating "I'm only going to buy it, if I can steal it" "It's only got 1,400 miles" So I'm thinking Sotheby's, R&M or even Meacum's. I wonder to myself, what is he likely to buy? An old Cadillac, a Corvette or a Viper, yeah, I can picture "Drives women away" driving a Viper. It was just as I was taking as nice, big, cold sip of my Dogfish head 60 minute IPA when Frank announces to the world at large "You know they don't make the PT Cruiser anymore" I damn near passed the beer out my nose! A fucking PT cruiser!
We decided we had enjoyed Frank's company long enough, payed our check, said our goodbyes and as we walked out, we heard "How's the date going? Ha ha ha ha"
With the cane picked up I returned to my seat... right next to me was one of the most annoying people that I have ever met. I'm sure you know this type of jackass, the guy who holds a conversation with everybody within earshot, though no one really wants to engage him. The type of guy that says random, oddball shit that only he finds funny and then laughs inappropriately loud and long. He actually blurted out this gem for no apparent reason "My Indian Name is, Drives women away" Not that we needed him to tell us that. At one point I picked up my phone, because I'm addicted to it like crack and need to "check-in" every 20 minutes or so. The dick-wad next to me (I should give him a name... Frank) Frank sees me on the phone and says "You must be on a date, how's it going" followed by his shrill laughter. Now we are not friends with Frank, however we have been going to this same restaurant for close to 20 years, we know each other. He knows that we are married and have been together for 28 years. Frank thinks he is fucking hysterical.
Frank decides to order a shit-load of fried shrimp and crab and artichoke dip with extra lump crab on top, for all of the people seated in his immediate vicinity. This was actually a very nice gesture; it almost made sitting next to him bearable. I declined as did Lisa (Lisa is allergic) I only bring this up because I want to paint a complete picture for you. This place aint cheep, he spent close to $200.00 on those appetizers alone. He actually seems to have befriended an older gay couple, sitting to his right. Or they were just being polite.
I cannot help but overhear a good part of his conversation. He is referring to an auction. He keeps repeating "I'm only going to buy it, if I can steal it" "It's only got 1,400 miles" So I'm thinking Sotheby's, R&M or even Meacum's. I wonder to myself, what is he likely to buy? An old Cadillac, a Corvette or a Viper, yeah, I can picture "Drives women away" driving a Viper. It was just as I was taking as nice, big, cold sip of my Dogfish head 60 minute IPA when Frank announces to the world at large "You know they don't make the PT Cruiser anymore" I damn near passed the beer out my nose! A fucking PT cruiser!
We decided we had enjoyed Frank's company long enough, payed our check, said our goodbyes and as we walked out, we heard "How's the date going? Ha ha ha ha"
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