Doing the IV pole shuffle. . .

Or, the Magic Bus goes to the hospital.

Mike is never sick. He is an absolute model of healthiness. He is also nearly a compulsive hand washer. So, what the hell happened this past week? He called from Orlando, Florida to say he felt really bad and his face was swelling. I figured along with the bear siting last weekend, some exotic insect had chomped him. I snarled over the cell phone, “Go to the emergency room!” Surprisingly, he did. And let’s hear it for those Mickey Mouse professionals — no blood work, no culture, you have an infection, here’s a handful of antibiotics. They didn’t even give him mouse ears to wear to complete the horror ensemble.

When I picked him up at the airport , he looked like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Friday morning he looked like W.C. Fields.

 His local doctor took one look at his  and sent him off to the hospital, Martha Jefferson (why does TJ get all the statues and she doesn’t even get a shadow profile?), where we camped this weekend — Mike, his companion Mr. IV pole, and me. For some reason they quartered him on the pediatric floor. I guess that’s proof that Mike really is the eternal child.

Mr. IV Pole probably racked up at least 10 miles as we toured the parking lots and the building floors.  Somebody must have thought we were escaping and called the hospital to say there was a patient outside who might need help. Hmm, perhaps I was invisible (or they thought I was an accomplice). We stood around the front entrance and would have squeegeed windshelds like homeless people, but we were squeegee-free (but really promoting whiplash with our presence).

The neighbors

The hospital was preternaturally silent, even beyond weekend slow. We tried to meet the neighbors, but that proved difficult (i.e., they were dead). We read WSJ, NY Times, watched the second Transformers movie (WTF?) and the True Grit remake (Jeff Bridges was awesome. What an impressive drunk).

Mike doodled.


 We even had a curbside consult with the infections disease doctor. I asked about a reduced consultation rate but he was noncommittal.

We checked out the HVAC systems.


By Sunday morning, the infection had receded, but the doctors nixed discharge until Mr. Petri Dish could finish his 48 hour gig. Mike’s doctor seemed bemused by his wish to be discharged, wondering if he had something to do or somewhere to go; well, gee, no, we really enjoy the colorless room where we have to hold our breath to get past each other, all our toys are at our house, and Mike has to wear a gown that’s more revealing than a stripper’s ensemble. Duh.

Mondays are rarely good days, but this one was. Mike was discharged early in the morning. And unaided, I might add. He just sailed out the front door on his own — no wheelchair, no being handed over to a responsible adult. (I guess they knew there wasn’t one in this duo.) Mr. Petri Dish ruled out anything exotic, so I think this is an all’s-well-that-ends-well story. How Shakespearean.

Handsome as ever, and royal too


6 responses to “Doing the IV pole shuffle. . .

  1. I am glad to hear that Mike is doing better. Wow, what a weekend! I am glad you both made the best of it!

  2. Holy smokes! What in the world did they determine caused this! I can’t believe it! You two have SERIOUS blog fodder, eh? Well, good for The Magic Bus, I guess. Tell King Mike we’re thinking of him, as WC Fields, that is. Hope you have a few relaxing days–can you guys actually DO that?? hahahaha. Cheers.

  3. Linda, this is priceless…. Arriving home from another day at the office, I find, to my utter delight, this wonderful, hilarious, laugh out loud blog. I’m sorry, Mike … But what did they actually come up for as a diagnosis?
    Hope Mike and you are back at home with your toys and the magic bus minus Mr. Petri. Love yo you both 🙂
    OMG, I just saw the pics… Poor Mike !

  4. Only my brother- some things never change!!

  5. Poor Mike!!! I’m sure you kept all the nurses and other patients entertained 🙂

  6. Well done..bravo..the writing and the recovery.

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