My mother had a minor procedure done at NYU hospital yesterday, and she was first aboard with the surgeon, so we had to be there at 6 AM.
When we arrived, we were shuttled into a pre-surgery waiting room where several medical personal, including the nurse, the doctor, the doctor’s assistant, and the anasthesiologist, asked my mother questions, making sure she was in good health. The questions were repetitive and it seemed as every one of the staff asked the exact same questions. Maybe this is how they rationalize the $15,000 price tag for an hour procedure — they ask a lot of questions.
During the interrogation, my mother made the mistake of thinking that the nurse CARED about the details of her life, rather than simply getting the facts to prevent any lawsuits.
“Do you get out of breath when you walk?” asked the nurse “How much can you walk?”
“Oh, I can walk for miles!” answered my mother. “I’ve walked from 14th Street to Central Park! But sometimes, if I’m sitting a long time, like in the subway, it takes me a second to get up. But, knock on wood, everything is fine. The couch in the living room is a little low, making it hard to get up after watching TV if I put my feet up, so I’m thinking of buying a new couch…”
“Mom…” i interrupt. “She just wants to know if you are healthy enough for the surgery today.”
The procedure went well and everything is perfectly fine.
Later in the day, I was on Twitter, talking on and on to those who don’t have me blocked, telling strangers the story of my day, and debating important issues such as — whether I’d rather have an dorky older established doctor with a medical degree or a really hot young one like in a TV show. As I typed my run-on sentences, it occurred to me that I’m not that different from my verbose, story-telling mother after all.