Letting Your Crazy Out

“Come on sick-o. Let’s get you upstairs!”  My nurse instructed while rolling a wheelchair into my room.

I hate that hospitals have a ‘no-walking’ policy.  It’s like they force you to succumb to sickness, taking away your fight and right to drag yourself along the sterile hallways.  That is exactly why I walked up to my delivery room when I was bursting with child and being crumbled with labor pains.  I would not be defeated, but I have since learned hospital policies do not bend, no matter how convincing you are.  They are the iron that supports the weight of a speedy recovery.

I plopped myself into the chair, allowing the nurse to dump my few belongings into my lap.  “Can I take my warm blanket?”

I guess I feared a night in the hospital might be as chilly as a night in my house, but I was wrong.  They use heat.  So with my once-warmed blanket draped over my shoulders, my papers in hand, and my purse on my lap, my male nurse wheeled me out of my room.  Feeling like an old woman in my wheelchair (Alzheimer’s runs in my family), I muttered, “I may be a sick-o, but at least I’m not crazy yet.”

My nurse heard.  They always do.  They are trained to hear and remember everything except your request for a potty break.  Somehow they forget to disconnect you from all the machines until your bladder nearly bursts.  My pride would not have recovered if I found myself in a wheelchair wearing a diaper.

At my back I heard, “Oh crazy… Are you a threat to yourself or others?”

“Others of course!” I responded with confidence and without hesitation, not particularly enjoying the idea of self-inflicted pain.

A set of ears behind the central desk heard, and chimed in her two-cents.

“Then you must be naked!”  The young girl in scrubs exclaimed.

“What?  You’re joking right?”  I asked with hope.

Unfortunately crazy people must be nude in the emergency room.  It is another policy.  Here I was worried about being in a wheelchair and needing Depends.  Little did I know that I could have made the trip upstairs buck naked.

I slept in my jeans and hospital gown.  Just to be safe.

Always watch what you say.  Don’t let your crazy out unless you are certain those around you will let you keep your clothes on.

It’s my advice for today.

No need to thank me.


13 thoughts on “Letting Your Crazy Out

  1. Pingback: Letting Your Crazy Out | Buford Corn Maze a Night of Family Fun

  2. Chrissy

    Ahhhhhhhh hahahahahahahaha. Oh my word. That reminds me of those signs at the airport that tell you not to even make a joke about a bomb…and you didn’t even want to until you saw those signs. It is literally at that point that you wish you had some duct tape because you’re sure you are going to slip up. No crazy jokes in the ER, got it.

  3. Jill

    I think sadistic streaks are part of a nurse’s training. I had no idea nudity was required for being crazy. and here I’ve been doing it wrong all these years!

  4. Pingback: Tweets that mention Letting Your Crazy Out | the domestic fringe -- Topsy.com

  5. Cathy

    I would love to meet you and talk to you in person. You always crack me up in your blog and I just imagine you are probably even funnier in person. Hope you’re feeling lots better.

  6. Jenn

    Was this your recent trip to the hospital? It’s amazing how your mind works, but I do understand about being in a wheelchair and trapped. 😉


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