The In ‘N Out Patient by Kris Harty
August 30, 2010 by admin · Leave a Comment
Wouldn’t you love to control when others talked and – more importantly – when they didn’t?
Let’s savor that idea for a moment, shall we? Ahhh. Nice.
Did a few scenarios flitter across your mind just now? Yep, mine too.
My mouth has always gotten me in trouble. It’s genetic. That’s what I’m going with, anyway. No doubt many people would love to have turned down my volume untold times over the decades.
A human remote controlled volume switch must be a universal longing.
For a few days in 2003, there was such a device. My friends still remind me of it. And then they smile, laugh, snicker, and seem to enjoy the idea far more than I really think they should.
There I was, lying in a hospital bed, tubes up the ying yang (umm, literally). I was brought up from surgery with the usual post-anesthesia haze. “Huhhhhhhh…..?”
Only this time, I couldn’t say ‘huh,’ or anything else, because a ventilator was blocking my ability to speak. Pretty sure my family and friends had a certain amount of happy going on right there.
While I healed for the next few days, the ventilator would need to stay in. And I would need to stay sedated so I wouldn’t pull it out, intentionally or unintentionally, in my drug-induced blissful little fog.
So here’s where my visitors got kind of excited. My nurses controlled when my blissful little cloud lifted and when it rolled over me again. Almost instantaneously. And from that, my visitors received miles of material and fun.
The IV bag held the magic elixir. The nurse merely flipped the switch to bring me to, and to shut me down again. Think marionette on a string.
When friends and family came to visit, so did my nurse. She’d make sure I was awake to enjoy my company for awhile. They’d gather around to watch the spectacle.
The switch was flipped. The eyes flew open. No time had passed.
Talk about a living Rip Van Winkle.
I completely lost track of time and days. But then again, clocks and calendars didn’t have a place in Van Winkledom. It was a good place, a peaceful place. Or at least I think it was.
I didn’t realize at the time what was happening. Everyone was happy and giggling when they saw me, so it seemed like a good thing.
“How’d you sleep, Kris?” Chuckle, laugh, snort.
Funny that the nurse later on would always tell me to say good night. When she did, giggling ensued from my peanut gallery.
“Kris, tell your friends good bye for now. You’ll see them again soon.”
“Time for another milkshake, Kris.” Paul, Kelly and Jennifer teased. Apparently, the magic elixir in the IV bag looked like a milkshake. When it was ‘fed’ to me, it was lights out, instantly. Good night, Gracie.
One last fading chorus of “Hey, can we have one, too?”
Lights out, volume muted. Hand over the remote, and no one gets hurt.
Stickability Specialist Kris Harty helps healthcare teams persevere through Compassion Fatigue. Kris is Chief Inspiration Officer of Strong Spirit Unlimited. By sharing Stickabilities, or tools, she learned from her own medically challenging life requiring a Walking Stick, Kris encourages healthcare professionals to Stick to it – no matter what! Diagnosed at age seven with Juvenile Rheumatoid Arthritis, she draws on 40 years of insight, research and stories as a healthcare recipient. She is the patient who now returns to say “You make a difference. Thank you.” Her message is content-rich, practical, engaging and inspiring – and sporadically funny. Kris reduces burnout, turnover, and Compassion Fatigue by re-engaging healthcare professionals, particularly nurses. Kris Harty is an inspirational keynote speaker, author and small group facilitator who helps people overcome challenges by creating unstoppable momentum in life and work. Clients say her message is life changing. Call 877.711.STICK, e-mail StrongSpirit@StrongSpiritUnlimited.com, or visit www.StrongSpiritUnlimited.com.
The In ‘N Outpatient by Kris Harty
August 23, 2010 by admin · Leave a Comment
Nurses are legendary for macabre humor. Patients, too, often lean toward a sick sense of humor – pun intended.
Maybe that explains this article.
I was introduced early on to the sometimes (but we all know not always) wacky world of wheelchairs. Chairs have been with me through most of my existence on an as-needed basis, mostly for long treks. Maybe it’ll be more than that one day. If so, count on more stories.
My first experience with a wheelchair was during my three-month hospital stint in first grade, during a difficult diagnosis of Juvenile Rheumatoid Arthritis. The drabness of those days was broken up by another patient’s brief but impactful antics.
Doug was my brother’s friend. At a young age, he acquired a reputation for perpetually looking for activities new, daring and fun.
When Doug found out I was a couple rooms away, he scurried over, plopped himself down in the wheelchair by my bed, and promptly began doing wheelies in my room. “Hey, can I take this out to the hall?”
Whooooooooooosh. Evel Knievel had nothing on this kid.
“Doug! Stop! NOW.”
Screeeech! He and his victims couldn’t have been in a better place to be fixed up.
Different hospital, couple decades later. This time, my first total knee replacement.
My visiting friend’s experience with wheelchairs was limited. Jim was intrigued by the one I sat in. “What does this part do? What about that part?”
Poking around the chair, he spotted a small lever. “This looks like it should…” as his hand monkeyed with the mechanism.
“*#%$!@!!!!” Down fell my newly operated-on knee, bandages, staples and all.
Curiously quiet, we stared at each other. “You ok?”
“I think so. It’s so bandaged up, I don’t think I could bend my knee if I tried.”
While on vacation in my 20s, a certain relative with a penchant for threatening to let go of my wheelchair, came across a ramp too perfect to resist. We’d always discussed our theories as to what would happen without an attached human braker.
This time, we found out. Without any drag, wheelchairs go mighty fast on big huge slanty ramps. Momentum is an amazing thing.
Imagine: two adults accelerating from 0 to 60 in seconds flat, screaming and hightailing it after a runaway wheelchair, grabbing hold moments before the ramp ran out of …well, ramp.
A decade later, wheelchair adventures awaited at the Kentucky Derby. Friends and I prepped ourselves for inspection at the track. One of the rules: no alcohol brought in. Being a ‘rules are made to be broken’ kind of crowd, we took this as a challenge.
Banking on the hunch they wouldn’t make a youthful looking adult stand up from her wheelchair, my friends loaded me up, so to speak, and in rather ingenious ways, I must admit. Role models? At that moment, not so much. Memory makers? For a lifetime.
And thus a contrabanded wheelchair gave birth to the reign of Vodka Boobs.
Who said wheelchairs have no fun?
Stickability Specialist Kris Harty helps healthcare teams persevere through Compassion Fatigue. Kris is Chief Inspiration Officer of Strong Spirit Unlimited. By sharing Stickabilities, or tools, she learned from her own medically challenging life requiring a Walking Stick, Kris encourages healthcare professionals to Stick to it – no matter what! Diagnosed at age seven with Juvenile Rheumatoid Arthritis, she draws on 40 years of insight, research and stories as a healthcare recipient. She is the patient who now returns to say “You make a difference. Thank you.” Her message is content-rich, practical, engaging and inspiring – and sporadically funny. Kris reduces burnout, turnover, and Compassion Fatigue by re-engaging healthcare professionals, particularly nurses. Kris Harty is an inspirational keynote speaker, author and small group facilitator who helps people overcome challenges by creating unstoppable momentum in life and work. Clients say her message is life changing. Call 877.711.STICK, e-mail StrongSpirit@StrongSpiritUnlimited.com, or visit www.StrongSpiritUnlimited.com.
The In ‘N Out Patient by Kris Harty
August 16, 2010 by admin · Leave a Comment
What high school senior girl in 1982 wouldn’t have given her coveted leg warmers in exchange for a month of staring dreamily, from bed, at Remington Steele?
Ah, the lengths to which we go.
Before the fun could begin, I agonized over two impending surgeries. Total hip replacements, two weeks apart, were scheduled to correct ravages from a decade of Juvenile Rheumatoid Arthritis. The month-long hospital stay four hours from home limited family visits.
Through the post-surgery haze, it became apparent that this month might not be the pure awfulness I’d anticipated, thanks to the perfect roommate.
We were the same age, shared the same sense of funny and the same huge crush on Pierce Brosnan.
Joan was from Ohio and was recovering in the hospital for a month, too.
Our room was seldom quiet. Laughter was the order of the day. Nurses routinely looked in, smiled and pulled the door shut to soften the noise.
What did we find so funny? Everything: hospital rules, healing contraptions, the food.
Our room became the nurses’ new break room. We were guaranteed to lift their spirits. They doted on us, and we loved the extra attention.
One nurse became our designated favorite. We kept her past her break time, enjoying the camaraderie. Understanding our teenage need for non-hospital food, she’d occasionally smuggle in fast food, making our day in a major way.
The only time we simmered down was during rounds, when our surgeons beckoned funny out and seriousness in. We struggled to make each other laugh when talk of our second surgeries entered conversation.
On those surgery days, our room quieted. No laughter, little talk, a few tears. We respected each other’s privacy when we couldn’t muster our usual gregariousness.
Noisometer readings skyrocketed when we felt better. Our door, once again, closed softly.
We were our own entertainment, long before cell phones, computers or other digital gizmos.
While our beds faced the same way, we didn’t often see each other. Healing from hip replacement and back surgeries required uncomfortable amounts of time on our backs, staring at the ceiling, listening to the other’s disembodied voice.
“Hey, whatcha doin’ over there, Joan?”
“Hanging around. How about you?”
We’d roar at our joke, as Joan’s recovery often required her to be in a sling of sorts, suspended from the ceiling. She’d be in it, then out. When put back into it, we’d break into a chorus of the old cowboy song “Back in the saddle again.”
Our unusual situation led to the idea of posters for shared entertainment. Real or imagined, posters of our beloved Pierce on the ceiling made us smile. After all, we needed something to take our minds off staring straight up, nearly 24/7.
Kudos to our nurses, a quarter-plus century later. They cared for and entertained us, among the scads of patients they helped throughout their careers. They likely don’t remember us, yet they made an undeniable difference.
They gave life back to two teenage girls whiling away their last schoolgirl summer days, in not-so-awful August 1982.
Stickability Specialist Kris Harty helps healthcare teams persevere through Compassion Fatigue. Kris is Chief Inspiration Officer of Strong Spirit Unlimited. By sharing Stickabilities, or tools, she learned from her own medically challenging life requiring a Walking Stick, Kris encourages healthcare professionals to Stick to it – no matter what! Diagnosed at age seven with Juvenile Rheumatoid Arthritis, she draws on 40 years of insight, research and stories as a healthcare recipient. She is the patient who now returns to say “You make a difference. Thank you.” Her message is content-rich, practical, engaging and inspiring – and sporadically funny. Kris reduces burnout, turnover, and Compassion Fatigue by re-engaging healthcare professionals, particularly nurses. Kris Harty is an inspirational keynote speaker, author and small group facilitator who helps people overcome challenges by creating unstoppable momentum in life and work. Clients say her message is life changing. Call 877.711.STICK, e-mail StrongSpirit@StrongSpiritUnlimited.com, or visit www.StrongSpiritUnlimited.com.
The In ‘N Out Patient by Kris Harty
August 9, 2010 by admin · Leave a Comment
The Short Chick with the Walking Stick. Yep, that would be me.
Apparently, one or the other characteristic wasn’t enough, so I’m in the enviable position of offering both. Or as we said in college, a two-fer. Of course, then it applied to beer.
Juvenile Rheumatoid Arthritis does leave its mark, or marks.
“How short are you, Kris?” The civil response to the oft-asked question is 4’6.” I am often thinking a much less appropriate answer. Be nice, Kris.
My shortness resulted from the medication I took in the first five years of the disease. Back in 1971, there were limited prescription options for arthritis, especially for kids.
The regime involved liquid cortisone, gold injections and a little bottle of Bayer.
I am grateful for the liquid cortisone. And I rue the liquid cortisone.
On the plus side, it kept me walking. Barely, but it did. I cringe thinking of the indescribable pain back then. I rarely complained, yet I know today I’d be a blubbering baby about it. Is it possible for wimpy genes to kick in later in life?
Five years is past any recommended dosing timeframe because the drug inhibits bone growth. Yet it was the only option. I don’t fault my then-family doctor or rheumatologist. They had no other recourse.
Yet here I am, four decades later, and when I sit on a friend’s couch, I do a terrific Edith Ann impression. You remember who I’m talkin’ about.
With that, we’ll move on to easily identifiable characteristic #2: the walking stick, which came to me in my senior year of high school. Yes, indeed, it’s high on the wish list of every high school senior.
I experienced my first round of hip replacements the summer before senior year. Since then, in an effort to prevent complicated surgeries due to fractures induced by off-balance falling, my right hand has seldom been without a walking stick in its grip.
Between the shortness and the cane, my stride is neither long nor super woman quick. And a number of years ago, it was much less quick than it is now. So when I saw this 30 second video, I could relate.
Just like the little old lady in the vid, I’ve also been honked at as I’ve passed in front of cars. Being the ornery person I sometimes am, the honking simply serves to encourage me to further slow down. While creeping along as annoyingly as I can, I’ll flash at the driver what my dear friend Lynne has coined The Harty Glare.
The driver invariably looks peeved, insulted, shocked or sheepish. This is way too much fun. So I milk it a bit more. Bad Kris, bad.
One day I may try using my walking stick in the same manner as the little old lady used her bag. If you hear about such an incident on the news, it’s probably me.
Ah, yes, just another day in the life of the Short Chick with the Walking Stick.
Stickability Specialist Kris Harty helps healthcare teams persevere through Compassion Fatigue. Kris is Chief Inspiration Officer of Strong Spirit Unlimited. By sharing Stickabilities, or tools, she learned from her own medically challenging life requiring a Walking Stick, Kris encourages healthcare professionals to Stick to it – no matter what! Diagnosed at age seven with Juvenile Rheumatoid Arthritis, she draws on 40 years of insight, research and stories as a healthcare recipient. She is the patient who now returns to say “You make a difference. Thank you.” Her message is content-rich, practical, engaging and inspiring – and sporadically funny. Kris reduces burnout, turnover, and Compassion Fatigue by re-engaging healthcare professionals, particularly nurses. Kris Harty is an inspirational keynote speaker, author and small group facilitator who helps people overcome challenges by creating unstoppable momentum in life and work. Clients say her message is life changing. Call 877.711.STICK, e-mail StrongSpirit@StrongSpiritUnlimited.com , or visit www.StrongSpiritUnlimited.com
The In ‘N Out Patient by Kris Harty
August 2, 2010 by admin · Leave a Comment
“Oh, those Jasper boys.”
I remember stories my mom told of the Jasper boys. I never met one, but I think I would have liked to, based on her reaction to memories of them.
They had spirit. Just like my mom. Just like me, so I’m told.
In this case, spirit might mean ‘youthful exuberance yielding experiences not appropriate for parental consumption’. I’m pretty sure I’ve seen that definition in a dictionary somewhere.
I heard only snippets of Jasper stories from my mom, of that I’m sure.
Every summer, Mom and I made the yearly pilgrimage to her childhood home where her mother still lived. We’d visit for a week and drive around, checking out the old and the new.
It was a corner of the world where, while new did occasionally appear, the ‘same old’ was a welcome and comforting norm.
The current crop of corn might have been new for that year, but the cornfield itself was repeated for generations. Same corn, different year.
As we tooled around the country roads, mom would get a sly grin on her face and glance at me out of the corner of her eye.
Soon, we’d be zipping and zig zagging all over the road, crazily. No rhyme, no reason. No traffic.
Much laughter.
I could see a girlish glint in her eye. She looked decades younger. Instant facelift. Gone were her responsibilities – and maturity.
This wasn’t my mom. This was someone who would have been a good, rules-are-made-to-be-broken kind of friend.
The mileage sign to Jasper appeared. She smiled. No, she downright beamed. And glowed.
“In high school, my sister and our cousin and I would drive over to Jasper on Saturday nights. That’s where the big dance was every week.
We’d get all dolled up, and go see who was there that week. There were always guys from the surrounding towns. But oh, those Jasper boys.”
“So what about those Jasper boys, Mom? Hmmm??”
The only answer she shared was in the form of a schoolgirl giggle.
It’s been a quarter century since that conversation took place. Yet I can see Mom’s smile and spirit now as clearly as I did then.
It was that spirit that carried her through a year of cancer treatments some 20 years ago. It was that spirit that got me through it, too.
Mom’s joy of living and appreciation of it extended to the nurses who took care of her in her last year. I still remember her exclaiming about the care she received from her oncology nurses, her chemo nurses, and the nurses who took care of her in her last days in the hospital. They made her comfortable and they made her laugh.
That was over two decades ago. Yet I still remember. Especially on this date when new memories of her ended forever.
And someone somewhere, two decades from now, will be remembering what – or who – made a loved one’s day, back when.
Oh, those Jasper boys.
Stickability Specialist Kris Harty helps healthcare teams persevere through Compassion Fatigue. Kris is Chief Inspiration Officer of Strong Spirit Unlimited. By sharing Stickabilities, or tools, she learned from her own medically challenging life requiring a Walking Stick, Kris encourages healthcare professionals to Stick to it – no matter what! Diagnosed at age seven with Juvenile Rheumatoid Arthritis, she draws on 40 years of insight, research and stories as a healthcare recipient. She is the patient who now returns to say “You make a difference. Thank you.” Her message is content-rich, practical, engaging and inspiring – and sporadically funny. Kris reduces burnout, turnover, and Compassion Fatigue by re-engaging healthcare professionals, particularly nurses. Kris Harty is an inspirational keynote speaker, author and small group facilitator who helps people overcome challenges by creating unstoppable momentum in life and work. Clients say her message is life changing. Call 877.711.STICK, e-mail StrongSpirit@StrongSpiritUnlimited.com, or visit www.StrongSpiritUnlimited.com.
The In ‘N Out Patient by Kris Harty
July 26, 2010 by admin · Leave a Comment
And now, for the concluding episode of Car vs Medical Parking Lots.
Last week, our story ended when a neon orange sticker appeared on the window of my rental car, while in the x-ray office’s parking lot.
My own car was in the shop. A few days prior, the hospital valet backed into my car while I was at a pre-op appointment.
Building security was patrolling the morning of my x-rays. Not seeing the handicap placard in full view on the dashboard (a result of the hangy part breaking off in cold weather), security issued an orange sticker warning for illegally parking in a handicap parking space.
And I was so proud of myself for remembering to move the placard from my car to the rental, just for this reason.
Not wanting to drive across town while fluorescing orange, I began peeling off the sticker. Gloved hands do not peel stickers well, and ungloved hands get mighty cold in zero degree temps. The sticker would stay, at least for now.
The rental car slip-slided across town to my house. I made it - until I reached my uber-slopey driveway. My only chance to make it up the icy slide was to gun it. The garage door needed to be open.
I reached for the garage door opener in its usual place on the visor. GONE.
I forgot to transfer it from my car to the rental. AUGGGGGG. (Your choice of words here.)
All I needed to do was enter my house from the front door and open the garage door from inside.
Piece o’cake.
I threw the car door open against the gale. Precariously, I trudged my way through snowdrifts to the front door. I attempted to turn the key.
The deadbolt was dead. The colder the temperature, the more stubborn it gets.
More expletives. There seems to be a pattern here.
Now what?
Aha! I could call my neighbor Tammy. She recently house-sat for me and learned the finer points of unlocking my stubborn deadbolt.
Could I really call her in this weather? Was there another option? Nope.
Being fabulous, Tammy immediately drove to my house, rescuing me from my snowy fate.
Turning the deadbolt took all the strength she had, which is fortunately much more than mine.
We’re in! Woo hoo!
After the rental was safely in my garage, my attention again turned to the glaring orange sticker on the window. Pfft.
This was a job for Gooey Gone.
Gooey Gone is effective. Gooey Gone is stinky. Good thing the stink could air out for 24 hours before the car needed to be returned. The rental company might not appreciate the sticker or the stench.
The great thing about snow in Colorado Springs is that it doesn’t last long, which is exactly the way snow should be.
Roads were clear the next day. Sticker stink was gone.
My own car was pristine again, my surgeon received my x-rays, and all was right with the world. Other than my newly developed fear of medical parking lots.
Stickability Specialist Kris Harty helps healthcare teams persevere through Compassion Fatigue. Kris is Chief Inspiration Officer of Strong Spirit Unlimited. By sharing Stickabilities, or tools, she learned from her own medically challenging life requiring a Walking Stick, Kris encourages healthcare professionals to Stick to it – no matter what! Diagnosed at age seven with Juvenile Rheumatoid Arthritis, she draws on 40 years of insight, research and stories as a healthcare recipient. She is the patient who now returns to say “You make a difference. Thank you.” Her message is content-rich, practical, engaging and inspiring – and sporadically funny. Kris reduces burnout, turnover, and Compassion Fatigue by re-engaging healthcare professionals, particularly nurses. Kris Harty is an inspirational keynote speaker, author and small group facilitator who helps people overcome challenges by creating unstoppable momentum in life and work. Clients say her message is life changing. Call 877.711.STICK, e-mail StrongSpirit@StrongSpiritUnlimited.com, or visit www.StrongSpiritUnlimited.com.
The In ‘N Outpatient by Kris Harty
July 19, 2010 by admin · Leave a Comment
No doubt the suspense has been killing you.
When we last got together on this page, I was guiding the hospital’s barely-legal-to-drive valet manager through the post-accident process. A valet backed another patient’s high profile pickup into my low profile convertible, crushing the front corner of my car.
Ouch.
This repair would require more than bandages and stitches.
After accident paperwork was completed and my pre-op appointment ended, I headed back to my car. I had plenty to think about for the hour-long drive home from Denver.
My doc and I were still in the planning stages for what this knee revision surgery would exactly entail (I say ‘we’ like I had ideas to contribute… Not!). My cutting edge (oooh, bad pun ahead) orthopedic surgeon wasn’t happy with the options. There was no optimal answer. But that’s another story for another time.
Take my word for it – my mind was whirling from the appointment. So much so, I’d temporarily forgotten about the car incident until heading for my car. “Ugh.” That plus a few other words escaped my lips – feel free to use your imagination. If you can think it, it spewed.
Thoughts swirled all the way home. Once there, I managed to remember to call my local x-ray department. Ah yes, the rules and regs of insurance. My surgeon was out of network but approved. That doesn’t mean insurance would pay for all x-rays taken at his office. That would be way too convenient and efficient for everyone. I needed to get more x-rays taken an hour south where I lived in Colorado Springs. That office would then need to have a currier drive the film x-rays to my surgeon in Denver. Aiy yi yi.
The day of the x-ray appointment was one of our worst blizzards of the year. I didn’t want to delay the pre-surgery process by cancelling. Plus, I’d scheduled my car to be repaired at the body shop that morning. I’d also reserved a rental car for the day. The rental car place and body shop were at the opposite corners of town from my house. X-rays were across town from there. As any good (ex) Minnesotan says, “Uff da.”
As I found out quickly, my rental car didn’t handle the snow and ice quite as expertly as did my Saab convertible. Those Swedes know how to make a winter- ready car.
Slowly making my way across town, I barely made it to my x-ray appointment on time. After adding to my already overly radiated body, I gingerly trekked out to my rental car, nicely buried in snow and ice. Fortunately, I’d thought to grab my extendomatic ice scraper from my own car and brought it with me. All would be ok.
Or so I thought until I got closer to my rental car. What’s with the bright orange neon dayglow sticker attached to the driver’s side window?
Come back next week for the real final conclusion of the car vs medical appointments saga.
Chief Inspiration Officer Kris Harty is the Stickability Specialist. Kris helps healthcare teams persevere through Compassion Fatigue. By sharing tools (Stickabilities) that she learned from her own medically challenged life, Kris encourages healthcare professionals to Stick to it – no matter what! Kris’ constant companion – her walking Stick – is the inspiration for her message. Diagnosed at age seven with Juvenile Rheumatoid Arthritis, she draws on 40 years of stories as a healthcare recipient. She is the patient who now returns to say “You make a difference. Thank you.” Her sometimes funny message is always content-rich, practical, engaging and inspiring. Kris’ company, Strong Spirit Unlimited, reduces burnout, turnover, and Compassion Fatigue by re-engaging healthcare leaders and professionals, especially nurses. Kris Harty is an inspirational keynote speaker, author and small group facilitator who helps people overcome challenges by creating unstoppable momentum in life and work. Clients say her message is life changing. Call 877.711.STICK, e-mail StrongSpirit@StrongSpiritUnlimited.com, or visit www.StrongSpiritUnlimited.com.
The In ‘N Out Patient by Kris Harty
July 12, 2010 by admin · Leave a Comment
Have I told you about the time my pre-op appointment was upstaged by my car?
I was glad to have made the hour long winter drive safely, arriving early for my pre-op, mind racing with concerns over a challenging knee revision surgery.
Rounding a corner in the parking lot, I found a line up of cars, idling, waiting. It wasn’t clear what we were waiting for, but it was clear we were not moving in the foreseeable future.
Apparently, the pickup truck driver ahead of me was waiting longer than he liked. Backup lights go on. No, he’s not really…..
STTTOP.
Where’s that bleeping beeping horn???
CRRRRRRRRRUUUUUUUNNNNNNNCHHHHH.
Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo. This did not just happen.
Not now. Not with everything else on my plate. And not my beautiful car, my baby. My beloved convertible. Ohhhh, help.
Am I ok? Seem to be. If not, guess I’m in the right place.
The driver of the pickup looked like a child. Are they really issuing licenses to 12 year olds now?
“What’s that? Can’t be….You say you’re the hospital VALET?” Oh that’s just swellllllllllll.
I guess insurance won’t be an issue.
Once inside the office, thoughtful nurse Fran, asked her now usual, tentative question: “Everything else ok for you?”
On prior visits, there had been a layoff to report and other unwelcome news.
The only response I could muster this time was to laugh somewhat hysterically.
After sharing the story with Fran (“Oh, my gosh, you’ve got to be kidding!”), I told her there would be a gentleman asking to see me in my appointment room regarding insurance.
Fran raised an eyebrow. “That’s a first.”
The valet’s manager was unable to come to the site of the crash before I needed to leave for my coveted appointment time.
After changing into cloth shorts two times too big for my 4’6” frame (before Fran found ‘specifically-for Kris’ size shorts to order – did I mention she rocks?), and enduring contortionist x-rays, I pseudo-patiently waited for either: a. my surgeon or b. the hospital car insurance guy. Big question: who would appear first?
Fran poked her head in, smiling slyly. “Umm, someone is here to see you.”
Ta da. Insurance dude won the race.
And I got to show off my oh-so-flattering two-times-too-big shorts. Bonus.
The insurance dude, the valet’s manager, was maybe 19. It became painfully obvious this was his first accident to cover. I walked him through some of the steps.
When he said he needed to go back to his office across campus to make copies, my patience wore out.
“You know, we’re in an office setting. I’m betting if you asked Fran, she might have a copier you could use.” He seemed too young to detect a not well hidden note of sarcasm.
“Oh, yeah. Maybe she would.”
Ya think?
So there you have it – part one of the car/medical parking lots/incidents story.
But wait… there’s more.
Tune in for the concluding episode next week on this same Bat channel.
Chief Inspiration Officer Kris Harty is the Stickability Specialist. Kris helps healthcare teams persevere through Compassion Fatigue. By sharing tools (Stickabilities) she learned from her own medically challenging life, Kris encourages healthcare professionals to Stick to it – no matter what! Kris’ constant companion – her walking Stick – is the inspiration for her message. Diagnosed at age seven with Juvenile Rheumatoid Arthritis, she draws on 40 years of stories as a healthcare recipient. She is the patient who now returns to say “You make a difference. Thank you.” Her sometimes funny message is always content-rich, practical, engaging and inspiring. Kris’ company, Strong Spirit Unlimited, reduces burnout, turnover, and Compassion Fatigue by re-engaging healthcare leaders and professionals, especially nurses. Kris Harty is an inspirational keynote speaker, author and small group facilitator who helps people overcome challenges by creating unstoppable momentum in life and work. Clients say her message is life changing. Call 877.711.STICK, e-mail StrongSpirit@StrongSpiritUnlimited.com, or visit www.StrongSpiritUnlimited.com.
The In N’ Out Patient by Kris Harty
June 28, 2010 by admin · Leave a Comment
Nurses have special powers. I know this for a fact.
My memory being what it is (or isn’t), I don’t remember many names of nurses I’ve encountered in the last four decades, but I do remember this: thinking, even in the wayyyy-back days, that nurses had special secret powers. For example, all along, you seem to have known what I needed even before I could frantically untangle my call button. Read more
The In ‘N Out Patient By Kris Harty
June 21, 2010 by admin · Leave a Comment
Some people have an ideal weight. Some have an ideal height. Because you only know me from my writing and not in person, I could happily tell you I’m at my ideal height of 5’8”. Alas, that’s a foot and two inches away from reality. But a girl can dream.
Picture this. Surgery #7 had me in the usual big ol’ adult-size hospital bed, which makes sense as the peds floor kicked me out a few decades ago. Read more
