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by Jon Dy Well, now that I have gone through the whole hospitalization experience, I can share with you the finer points of what one must go through in order to cure oneself. I must begin with the one aspect of hospitals that I'm sure most of us can agree on: hospital food. I can now say that I have seen the dark side of dining. Oh yeah, I've been there and back, and am fortunate enough to share with you my travels through the bland, unexciting world of the hospital cuisine. There is one aspect of the food that I would like to focus on right now, that being the sauce. Each meal is accompanied by a description of what you're about to eat, but I'm still debating whether that's just there to confuse you or not. With many meals, comes the light lathering of gravy over the "chicken" or "turkey", like there's a difference... I may get thrown off on the whole "Coke or Pepsi" thing, but they can forget about frickin' fooling me on this fowl issue. Anyway, this dressing of the meat slab is usually given the name "gravy", or "bbq sauce", or just "sauce" plain and simple. DON'T BE DECEIVED! All this dancing and prancing around the truth is a bunch of crap because it all tastes the same. At times they alter the ingredients to legitimize the name changing, but all this does is gives you variations of the same hot-broth, semi-coagulated elixir which, I'm convinced, has the sole purpose of forcing a bowel movement. Having a bowel movement is hospital talk for taking a massive, mind-cleansing shit, for those who knew not. You see, in my first tenure as occupant of hospital room 3050, I was asked several times if I had a bowel movement. The first time I was asked, I paused for a second, then responded "no" because although I knew of the bowels and their purpose, I was momentarily confused with the specifics of the "movement" of this body part. I'm more into the layman's terms of caca, poopoo, butthole meat pie, and floating log from up the creek. I believe it was the nurse's goal to make me shite as often as possible, and it is for that reason I was fed a shot of milk of magnesium, which tasted as lovely as a bird crapping directly into your mouth, with a dash of milk, of course. The following morn, I discovered the wonders this milk of magnesium work on our ever elusive goal of achieving multiple bowel movements. Oh it moved alright! Moved like a bat outta hell right from my arse to the septic tank forty feet below the surface of the ground, and that's without flushing! I think I blew a hole through three floors of that hospital in less than 2.5 seconds flat! I swear that stuff cleared the entire waste contents of my body, and then some... I think I even dropped a kidney! If you ever wanna experience pissing an A-bomb outta your ass, you gotta try milk of mag! WOW! Now if only they had it in injection format. (Floating thought of no relevance: I once knew a guy who exaggerated so much that he sounded like a fudgin' moron every time he tried to get a point across.) I was to later on find out that with all the pain killers I was using, it was inevitable that I would be constipated, and let me tell you, I must have received enough morphine in that hospital to last me another lifetime! I used enough in the two weeks I was there that they were thinking of using my own blood as a painkiller. I'll tell you though, if I've ever taken a drug that has had the greatest effect on pain, it is morphine. The only setback is that when injected too fast, it really burns for a few seconds, and by the end of my stay, my left arm was sore and kinda numb from the whole morphine experience. But boy did it ever work wonders! That's about all I have to say about my whole drug, hospital gravy and A-bomb shit adventure, so feel free to e-mail me and share your own similar experiences. [Editor's Note: This concludes our Jon Dy Double Feature. For more about Jon's hospital stay click here for "The Way I See It Now".] |
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