While I was waiting in one of the hospital beds for my second cataract surgery, an older woman was escorted by me and deposited in the bed next to me.
"I have Crohn's disease, don't you know," she started. "My mother had it and now I have it. It makes me sick sometimes."
"Hmmmm," said the clearly uninterested nurse.
"Yes, it's true." Totally unable (or unwilling) to read the room, she continued on relating her complete family history. "Now my father never had it and my sister doesn't have it, isn't that funny?"
"Huh."
"But my sister has GERD. Do you know what that is? Well, it's when stomach acid comes back up. I don't have GERD but I have Crohn's disease. Did I tell you that? Yes, I was diagnosed with it back in..."
The nurse politely excused herself and ran for cover. However, the anestheologist soon became her second victim.
"I have Crohn's disease, don't you know? It was diagnosed back in the 90's and it causes me to--"
"Do you smoke?" The anestheologist was not nearly as patient as the nurse had been, abruptly cutting off the old woman's reciting of her medical history.
But she remained hellbent on being heard. "No, I've never smoked. It's kind of disgusting if you ask me. My dad, he smoked. And that's what got him in the end, the cancer. But I've never had any desire or interest to--"
"That's interesting," replied the anestheologist. "Excuse me."
She rushed off but my bed neighbor was not discouraged as she latched onto another poor passing unsuspecting nurse.
And the hell began all over again. "I have Crohn's disease, don't you know? And my mother had it but my--"
The nurses all had a hasty escape plan, but alas, I was bed-ridden and helpless. I wished fervently for the drugs to kick in and put me to sleep. This was far worse than the unseen guy who sits down on a toilet stall next to you and wants to chat about the baseball game last night. Far, far worse.
Mercifully, after another half hour or so of her incessant rattling, I was wheeled away to surgery. With a smile on my face. Probably a first time for that reaction.
Early the next morning, I had a post-op visit scheduled with the doctor. My wife and I sat in the waiting room. The door opens and it's Chatty Cathy again! She sits across from us. And a fresh new hell opened up all over again.
"Did you have surgery yesterday, too?" she launched.
"Yes, I did. I--"
"What color are your eyes? I can't see from here. Did you have surgery for distance or close up? I had surgery to fix my close vision. Can you see better? I think I can. I have Crohn's disease, don't you know? Yes, it's true. My mother had it before me but my sister never had it. Isn't that funny? But she has GERD, do you know what that is? It's when your--"
"Stuart?" I nearly kissed the nurse as I escaped the nefarious clutches of Chatty Cathy.
God must've been particularly unhappy with me those two days.
Speaking of which, check out my book Godland. It's a midwestern nightmare. Farm noir. Suspense and horror collide. You've been duly warned!
