Yes, you got it, I’m still recovering from that frightening episode on Wednesday afternoon with the Mesquite fire department … the one where I was treated like a slab of beef and manhandled so severely that it still feels like I was kicked down a flight of stairs. Please allow me to explain what’s been happening here since then.
WEDNESDAY EVENING. By Wednesday evening I conclude that I’ll never EVER attempt to use my commode again because the risk is too great that I’ll have difficulty getting up afterwards again and need professional help — you know, the fire department — getting back into bed. Therefore I have to find an immediate alternative to using the commode. This, of course, would be a BEDPAN. Oh. My. God.
THURSDAY MORNING. Sam and I call the hospice administrator, Bea, to ask for a bedpan. She listens to my story in horror and agrees to order one for us.
FRIDAY MORNING. Bea asks have we ever heard of a Hoyer Lift, which is a top-of-the-line hydraulic sit-to-stand lift machine to help me transfer (in comfort) to and from various locations in the same room. Such as from a bed to a commode, from a commode to a chair, and so on. Bea thinks we would like one very much and orders it for us … COMPLETELY FREE OF CHARGE. (Online, a Hoyer lift sells for $2,395.) In case you’re wondering, the “liftee” hangs in a sling. It’s something like a carnival ride … minus the barfing.
FRIDAY AFTERNOON: PART ONE. Our free Hoyer Lift will be delivered “today” (Friday) or “tomorrow” (Saturday, according to Bea) with a trained individual to teach Sam how to use the sling and twirl me around the family room. Bea continues to insist that my new bedpan is really “on the way,” but she asks us to text her by 6 p.m. if we haven’t received it. Because this seems to be taking a little too long — and I’m beginning to panic about not having anything in which to deposit my poop — around 4 p.m. Sam decides to visit Salton Medical Supply (across from the Mesquite Post Office) to buy me a goddamn bedpan already.
FRIDAY AFTERNOON: PART TWO. Sam comes home with a really nice goddamn bedpan. Total cost, $8. At 6:15 p.m. I text Bea to let her know that hers never arrived. Note: If we ever receive the bedpan she ordered, Sam will return his. In addition, Sam is attempting to launch a big brouhaha with the captain of the Mesquite fire department as push-back for the way both of us were treated on Wednesday (mostly me). The brouhaha has been postponed until Monday.
FRIDAY EVENING. We sleep a lot. Now that we have Sam’s bedpan available I don’t feel hysterical any more. If I need to poop, I’m covered.
SATURDAY. Bea’s bedpan never materialized, but it doesn’t matter any more because I’m concentrating on other things right now, such as my cousin (Bobby) and my sister (Robin) arriving this morning from Chicago. I imagine they’ll both be here to witness the Hoyer Lift hoo-hah ... whenever it gets here. (Stay tuned.)
THURSDAY MORNING. Sam and I call the hospice administrator, Bea, to ask for a bedpan. She listens to my story in horror and agrees to order one for us.
FRIDAY MORNING. Bea asks have we ever heard of a Hoyer Lift, which is a top-of-the-line hydraulic sit-to-stand lift machine to help me transfer (in comfort) to and from various locations in the same room. Such as from a bed to a commode, from a commode to a chair, and so on. Bea thinks we would like one very much and orders it for us … COMPLETELY FREE OF CHARGE. (Online, a Hoyer lift sells for $2,395.) In case you’re wondering, the “liftee” hangs in a sling. It’s something like a carnival ride … minus the barfing.
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| The Hoyer Lift … a high-tech hydraulic carnival ride for immobile bloggers. |
FRIDAY AFTERNOON: PART ONE. Our free Hoyer Lift will be delivered “today” (Friday) or “tomorrow” (Saturday, according to Bea) with a trained individual to teach Sam how to use the sling and twirl me around the family room. Bea continues to insist that my new bedpan is really “on the way,” but she asks us to text her by 6 p.m. if we haven’t received it. Because this seems to be taking a little too long — and I’m beginning to panic about not having anything in which to deposit my poop — around 4 p.m. Sam decides to visit Salton Medical Supply (across from the Mesquite Post Office) to buy me a goddamn bedpan already.
FRIDAY AFTERNOON: PART TWO. Sam comes home with a really nice goddamn bedpan. Total cost, $8. At 6:15 p.m. I text Bea to let her know that hers never arrived. Note: If we ever receive the bedpan she ordered, Sam will return his. In addition, Sam is attempting to launch a big brouhaha with the captain of the Mesquite fire department as push-back for the way both of us were treated on Wednesday (mostly me). The brouhaha has been postponed until Monday.
FRIDAY EVENING. We sleep a lot. Now that we have Sam’s bedpan available I don’t feel hysterical any more. If I need to poop, I’m covered.
SATURDAY. Bea’s bedpan never materialized, but it doesn’t matter any more because I’m concentrating on other things right now, such as my cousin (Bobby) and my sister (Robin) arriving this morning from Chicago. I imagine they’ll both be here to witness the Hoyer Lift hoo-hah ... whenever it gets here. (Stay tuned.)
Thank you for reading this. I may (or may not) be back again today … but in the meantime if you don’t want to remember the Alamo, I have no problem with that whatsoever.
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