A tale of the E.R.

Dear Loved Ones and Adoring Fans,

Recently, I had a new and most exciting adventure. Since it was all about me, my mom has agreed to let me write the account (she is typing as I dictate, since I have not quite mastered keyboard skills). Here goes:

It was a warm and clear Wednesday evening when I popped in my carseat and headed north to visit my physician, Dr. Subir Mitra. After munching down a mini lollipop and inspecting the waiting room toy selection, I was called back. The scale reported a small weight gain as I am now 30 pounds. I could not feel prouder.

After a long wait in a room that still smelled of fresh paint, the doctor arrived. He looked in my ears, which I detest. But I was still willing to put my confidence in him, especially when he told my mom and dad that he recommended a visit to the Phoenix Children’s Hospital emergency department. Whoah! I have never been able to be an E.R. patient. I have—ever since my dad worked in one—been plotting to visit an E.R. for myself. This was my chance. I laid still and looked as pathetic as possible. Perhaps they would follow Dr. Mitra’s advice and make my dreams come true!

It worked. I got back in my carseat and headed south—deep south to PCH. We found the hospital and it was incredible. The outside was decorated with Christmas lights and my size benches of all colors and sorts. Mom and dad whisked me inside where a woman the size of an obese whale (pardon me, but I haven’t learned good etiquette yet) asked for my name and other identifying information. Since I am particular about talking to strangers—or to anyone for that matter—mom and dad gave Whale my stats. A different woman told us to take a seat and wait. Now came the fun!

The waiting room was full of children and a large flat screen television. Why don’t we have one of these babies at home?? I couldn’t help but wonder as movies flashed before my eyes.

After an hour or two, we were transported to my room. At least four people listened to my chest and I was weighed again. Then we waited on a little bed and I got to wear a spaceman gown. I tried not to think of it as a dress since it was blue, but I did feel a little self-conscious when a young woman doctor came in and wanted to poke my stomach. I told her to go away but she didn’t mind me. I don’t know why someone didn’t put her in time out! I was busy figuring out the intricacies of the Tonka Firetruck when she tricked me and poked my belly again. Some women just can’t be trusted! But at least she did say the magic words my little ears have always longed to hear: X Ray!

Now, I am no novice when it comes to x rays. In fact, I had several in the first couple days of my life (that’s a different story altogether). But still, those memories are getting fuzzy so I eagerly anticipated being taken into a room with magnetic coats and a Danger: Radiation! sign on the door. At long last, a man came to fetch me. I didn’t feel comfortable sitting in the wheelchair he provided but apparently it was policy that I sit in it. Drat! I kindly asked my father to sit in the wheelchair and allow me to sit on his lap. The young man pushing me around said it was ok. Off we zoomed through the twisting corridors of the emergency department. Aha! The Danger: Radiation! sign was there. So were the magnetic coats, and a modern art mural covered an entire wall (chickens in hot air balloons, if you must know).

Two mean men stalked in and forced me to lie still on a big bed while they put metal books under my back and around my sides. I told them to stop but they didn’t. What is it with these hospital personnel? Dad held me down but I forgive him since it was the mean men’s idea.

Somehow the metal books made a picture of my intestines. The doctor inspected the pictures of my poop waiting to be pooped and declared me healthy. Mom was expecting the doctor to find baby Jesus in my bowels since I have taken a liking to chomping his head, but, alas, baby Jesus did not make an appearance.

After much ado (another hour’s worth), they finally brought the juice I had requested at least fifty thousand times. What does a man have to do around here to get any respect? I must admit, the E.R. is not as resort-like as one would expect. Nevertheless, I am pleased to have had the experience of being a real live emergency department patient. I should like to try it again soon!

Love,
John