Here I am wondering in my typical drama king way, wondering if my neurosurgeon is going to kill me on Wednesday. Suddenly and without warning, I get a call from some person at the local hospital wanting to pre-register me. Why should I do that? Skip the pre-registration and just register me.
So, liking to be punctual for my own surgery, I asked this person what time is my surgery. Too complicated. By analogy, this is like calling the airline for your flight departure time. And the airline rep states we do not know. Life in America.
So after this person does not what time I am supposed to be there for surgery, I ask for her supervisor. Now this is supposed to be the surgery department that is going to be whacking on my neck, making me fear for my life. It seems to me I should know as the patient, what time should I be there. After all, it is only common sense that it is pretty hard to do a neurosurgery, when the patient does not know when to be there.
To further show how ludicrous things like a major neurosurgery that might kill me can get, then this supervisor also states he does not know either. They both tell me I am going to be called by someone else, a pre-op nurse, which seems redundant.
Because I would just rather talk to the operating nurse, so why would want to talk to a pre-op person? Save time and skip pre-registration and just let me talk to a surgery nurse, instead of a pre-op surgery nurse.
To further illustrate how silly we are in America, maybe I should have talked to a pre-surgeon instead of just talking directly with my surgeon himself. Ditto for insurance people that want all my money. I should be talking to the pre-insurance folks, before I talk to the regular insurance people.
Regardless, these folks tell me the pre-op nurse will call me between 3 and 5 tomorrow. I told these folks I might not be here because I have to give oral argument before the Lee County Value Adjustment Board on a equally imcomprehesible valuation on my condo. The same condo I have to also deal with that scumbag lawyer tomorrow.
I therefore guess I will just show up for surgery like one does at a resteraunt not having a reservation. Maybe they will give me one of those infrared things that flash, letting me know my surgery table is reading for seating.
I hope I can order a glass of wine with my surgery. Because God and Jesus know I could certainly use one, before they kill me. But hey, I am grateful for the neurosurgon gave me a prescription for some narcotics. Because I am just chilling out grooving on some blues music wondering when is my neurosurgery scheduled for.
I frequently tell people here in SW Florida how I did not drink alcohol for 27 years. Then, I moved to Florida. Many say, ditto for them. Maybe today, I should call the pre-funeral arrangement people, just in case I cannot call them because I was killed having neurosurgery.
Table for one, is calling. Gotta go.