A friend of ours is spending time in a hospital right now. She asked that I come up and straighten everyone out since she would like to get another surgery done while she’s recuperating from the first. Her contention, which I agree with, is that if she’s doing fine and recovering from one surgery, why not go ahead and do the other so that she can recuperate from both at the same time. Their answer to that is they want to give her time to be able to get around before they do it again. This makes no sense at all because she can’t do anything right now anyway. With having both done, she could cut the convalescence time in half. That makes sense doesn’t it?
When she asked me to come up and see if I could talk sense into them, I thought of and told her about one of the times my allergic husband, Claude, made it into the hospital. He was sitting in ER on a bed swelling around his eyes, they were swollen shut, his lips had curled back, he looked like he’d had a bad collagen injection job, his ears were swollen, along with his nose, and in fact was having a little trouble breathing. Right next to us was two policemen and their prisoner. They were kind enough to close the curtain between the prisoner and us.
One of the nurses saw me at the end of Claude’s bed and asked, “Aren’t you Da Juana Byrd?”
To which I replied, “Yes, I am.” I’m a southern woman. We’re nice to everyone and also try to help out where we can. Besides, I didn’t want to be rude but Claude hasn’t let me live this down yet.
To make a long story short, that one nurse turned into, well, what does it really matter anyway? They started asking me psychic questions that I answered because, as I’ve already mentioned, a southern woman is helpful. My audience continued to grow. When I started answering their questions the two male police officers pulled back the curtain. Then, their prisoner and all the health care assistants within earshot were talking with me. It was sort of like a mini classroom with the policemen stating that they used their intuition too. The prisoner didn’t say he used it or he probably wouldn’t have been caught and in the hospital then.
Anyway, we’re all talking and having a grand old time when we hear someone gasping out in as loud a voice as he can, “I’m choking over here. Da Juana, not another word until they fix me. Do you hear me?” He tells me now that he went from a shade of pure white to deadly blue and I didn’t even notice. How could I? I was busy teaching.
The nurses turned back to me and started up where we’d left off but Claude reminded me of who I was right then and that was his caring wife. And he was right. So, I had to tell them that I couldn’t answer more questions until my husband could breathe. They were fantastic, fixed him right up and we went back to our session.
So, I told my friend and, wonder of wonder, even with neck surgery, all I could hear on the phone was her laughter. Can you imagine that? Laughing at my poor husband’s infirmity. That’s when I mentioned it might not be the best thing for me to try to straighten anyone at the hospital out. They might know who I am and then the class begins.