Chic Sheik

     We arrived home around dinner time last night after a long and stressful day at the Southwest Washington Regional Surgery Center.  Nyel’s right arm was tucked into the rather complicated sling arrangement that he will wear night and day for the next six weeks.  But, the two tears in his rotator cuff have been repaired, a bone spur on his shoulder has been removed – no surprises or complications, said the surgeon.  Hooray!
     The day was not without its lighter moments.  When the attractive nurse who came to the lobby door to get Nyel introduced herself as “Bambi,” neither of us laughed aloud.  And neither of us said, “Sorry about your mother.”  But, in our moods of heightened anxiety, the temptation was there.
     Other nurses who dealt with Nyel also had unusual names –Sonna and Angel.  Only Judy’s name was familiar, but she had been to Oysterville many times which, in and of itself, was unusual.  Every single one of these women was attractive, efficient, informative, and caring – as were the anesthesiologist and the surgeon.
     The cubicles in which Nyel spent his time immediately before and after surgery were small with curtained partitions and they all seemed to be occupied – many by children and their parents.  As we had waited in the lobby, we had seen numbers of little ones, most clutching favorite stuffed animals or sitting on a parents’ lap listening to Horton Hears a Who which seemed to be the only book choice for toddlers.  Tuesdays and Fridays, Bambi told us, were big days for children – tonsils, adenoids, ear tubes.
     There was no sound-proofing, of course, but we didn’t hear a single child crying – just lots of cheerful, professional voices explaining what things were for and answering questions by curious kids.  Privacy issues, at least those connected with sound, were non-existent.  But there was no way to connect any names or faces to what was being said.
     The only semi-discordant note was the voice of an adult male in recovery after some sort of surgery which caused him to continually ask the nurse to look at his “nuts” or his “balls” and confide his personal history to her in a whining Poor-Pitiful-Pearl sort of voice.  Seldom (probably never) have I heard a grownup so full of self-pity.
     The nurse seemed to listen sympathetically (way beyond what my patience level would have been!) and finally said in a cheerful voice, “Can I get you some crackers?  How about some orange juice?  Or a Percocet?”  There was something in her tone that reminded us of the old “Coffee? Tea? or Me?” joke, and we smiled right out loud.  Interestingly, when the wife was brought in, the man’s manner of speaking changed completely.  He sounded pleasant, reassuring to his loved one, and totally on top of it.  Go figure.
     Nyel, always the strong, silent type, said very little.  He looked a bit like the ‘Sheik of Araby’ when he came out of surgery, swathed in warm blankets from head to toe.  On our way back home we listened to the rest of a book-on-tape. The happy ending occurred just as we entered Oysterville!  Of course!