And they all CLOSE THE FREAKING DOOR WHEN THEY LEAVE. How fucking hard is that to do, and why did they feel the need to leave this old, highly strung, bitter, introverted queen out on public display anyway?
I have long held that the nurse practitioners often define excellent caregiving, and the example I met this morning upheld my observation, even if she didn’t like my language. Her colleague, however, who rolled through here a bit later in the afternoon, could use some instruction. He knocked rapidly and sharply, flapped open the door, strode in like a ranger in Lord of the Rings, and proceeded to compliment me on my ability to sit up. I shit ye not. My ability to sit up.
He also wanted me to walk the halls for exercise. Of course, he was too busy talking to hear that I’m resting a foot from running 27 miles the other day, and that I haven’t been in the same chair for more than an hour since I arrived.
Am I so old to these young eyes? Evidently, I am. When he left, he left the door open. He and I will not be doing much business together.
So we’ll see how the evening goes. The nurse practitioner said she left orders to leave me alone from 9 to 7. We’ll see if the ever efficient staff can meet those requirements. Of course, I’ll probably code tonight, and they’ll remember the orders then.