Poetry, Lyrics, and Quotes

Shelley Diehl (1984 ->)
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"Hello, this is stupid how can I help you?"

shelley.jpg

Ring.
 
"Hello nursing home diagnostic services.  This is Shelley, can I help you?"
 
"Yis, Garden Center we need chest x-er-ray."
 
Oh do you now?  We you say? Does the whole center need a chest x-ray?  These are my immediate thoughts
and my smile betrays my ire which is reflected in my voice in the disguise of a helpful cheer.  "Sure, what's the patients social security number?"
 
"610-996-2583."
 
 I do all that I can not to groan or burst out laughing and I wait a moment before replying. "The social security number?"
 
"Oh!  999999999 D as in dog."
 
At this point my eyes roll back into my head.  The pain of the idiocy almost striking me as dead as the person with that Medicare number for the D means deceased.  I wait another moment to see if the nurse would realize she had read me the Medicare number instead of the social security number and if she would realize that the D at the end of that number stood for the death of the patients husband.  Then again maybe she needs a chest x-ray of a corpse but I do not think we provided that service....  "Um, Mame the numbers with the letters after it are the Medicare number and this one with the D is the Medicare number of the deceased husband.  I'll need the patients social security number please."
 
The nurse pauses and all I can do is hope the task has grown too frustrating.  Maybe she'll have a flash of inspiration where the irony of the mediocre task sinks home.  Perhaps she'll look around at the patients in the purgatory that is a nursing home and will realize that life is too short for such tribulations.  Perhaps in that tiny break in the conversation she'll pause and reflect that there were better things to be doing than searching for social security numbers on a badly hand written face sheet and she'll stand up and give a joyful burst of a scream of ecstasy before shedding her scrubs and running home.  But no, none of this happens and instead she croaks, undaunted by her own laziness. "Ah have'ta git her chart.  Hold one second." 
 
Click.

Now I truly get to enjoy something special as the nurse goes to get the information she should have had ready before the phone call.  (It's all required on the form.) There is just something unique about the songs chosen to play while a person is kept on hold.
 I get to listen to seventies porn music while some disgustingly cheery woman describes the facilities at the nursing home.  "Here at Garden we are prepared for a short or long stay.  Our loving staff will tend not just to the physical needs but the mental needs of the residents as well because here at Garden we think our residents should lead a full and wonderful life."  Yet I have to wonder how a nurse fresh off the boat who doesn't even understand the words social security number (probably because she doesnt have one) can possibly connect with a resident from the greatest generation in American history.  These are the people who fought on the shores of Normandy, or stepped out of the home and into the work place changing the dynamics of the work force in this country forever.  They went from building cars to tanks.  They were alive when men jumped from sky scrapers after stocks plummeted like their bodies into oblivion.  Type writers weren't even electronic yet then.  Now they are left old and scared and utterly alone unable to care for themselves and left to die in the care of a nurse who was taking way to long to even find a face sheet.  I nearly want to pull my hair out to the beat of the seventies porn music and the cheeriness of the yammering recordings timbre just seems to mock the entire situation.  Where is the health care?  Screw the health....where is the friggin' care?
 
Click.
 
"Ell-low Shirley?"
Shelley. I think but do not say.  I'm always someone besides myself.  "Yes?"
 
"You ready?"
 
More than you are. "Yes I am."
 
"999999990 A"
 
 I pause and nearly throw my head set.  Had I not just explained that the numbers with the letters were Medicare numbers and not the social security numbers?!  Sure, most of the time when it ended in A it was the same as the social but not always and these are important medical documents and she can't even take the time to get the right number?  My fingers work as if from their own accord as they type the number into the system and anxiously I press enter and prey that a name comes up.  The thought of needing this idiot to spell the persons name and give me the date of birth sends a chill down my spine.  Yet if the patient is all entered....ah...yes.... "Shirely Baker?"
 
"Yis that's is her.  She need chest x-er-ray. OK? Good-bye..."
 
"Oh-I-need-more-information-than-that!" I spill the words from my mouth with such speed they are nearly just one word as I race to catch this idiot because I can hear the heart fluttering rustle of the phone as it moved dangerously close to the receiver.  More rustling and I know it's back on her ear.
 
"Oh what?"
 
Dumbass.  "The room number?"
 
"610-996-2583."
 
"Um, the room number?"  Holy mother of god.  Just give me any numbers!  Sure woman shoot, hell why not just give me the winning lottery numbers while you're at it!
 
"Oh oh Ah did not hear." No, you didn't think.
 "Neenteen.  Rrroom Neenteen."
 
"Any wing or unit?"  Somehow I keep my tone polite
 and I cannot help but contemplate the greatness of my
 performance.  I deserve an academy award for best politeness in a scene of extreme stupidity.
 
"First floor."
 
Did I ask for what floor? "Ok that's a chest x-ray an..."
 
"Yis chest x-er-ray!"  She interrupts.
 
"And the reason?" I retort with uncanny cheeriness dripping like bile from my tongue.
 
"O, I don't know."
 
In order for an x-ray to be done the doctor must give an order.  Doctors don't normally throw out x-rays like candy just because it's the nice thing to do.  "Ma'me I'll need a reason why.  What did the doctor say?"
 Pause.  Oh that sweet silent moment when I know the nurse is thinking to herself 'oh shit'.  It's illegal for the nurses to write the order without the doctors consent though they did it anyway out of fear of legal repercussions for something they may have been overlooked.  Yet a quick phone call to a doctor could remedy everything.  After yelling to another nurse she replies. "Congestion."

Oh great.  A consensus.  "OK and your name?"
 
"Lind-da."
 
"Alright we'll be there sometime today.  Thank you."

Click.