So there we were in the speeding ambulance, me sitting in a wheelchair; I refused to lie on a stretcher. An ambulance nurse at my side, the paramedic at the wheel, we raced along at top speed the whole three blocks from Harborview Med Center to Virginia Mason Hospital up on Seattle’s Pill Hill. We laughed all the way. A nurse was necessary for this transfer for radiation treatment to my elbow the day after surgery because I had a continuous narcotic IV infusion going. Focusing on the moment, spaced out on legal pain meds, I asked Jana: “What do you do with the old ambulances when you guys buy new ones?” After I explained that our hospital in La Paz, La Paz, Honduras could use a donated ambulance, she said that I should talk to management but that it was certainly doable. The company had previously driven a donated ambulance to a Central American country. The ensuing conversation led to even bigger possibilities so that by the first of next year when I return to La Paz we are now tentatively planning to drive a donated ambulance to Honduras filled with expired medical supplies otherwise headed to the scrap heap in the States. On the return trip from Virginia Mason Hospital to Harborview Med Center, the driver turned on the red flashing lights and siren and gunned it. That, my friends, is called networking with styyle.
Yup, it happened again. Surgery rescheduled until next Wednesday the 12th of October. I suspect stupidity or incompetence on the part of the orthopedic surgery schedulers. Probably both. The exact thing happened the last time I had surgery as well, back in May. I won’t excuse my feelings of bitterness. I’m entitled. The view above is a 180 degree pan of my daughter’s backyard where I exercise and read. Each delay means additional weeks of physical therapy before I can be cleared for a return to duty. Sure, a nice place to linger. But it sounds too much like malinger, and I’m not built that way. I want to get this over so I can return to work.