Ah, that was quick! You've discovered that the nanny is a pretender only -- she can't fly through the air by umbrella and has completely failed to endanger the boys's lives by taking them on an 'adventure' to hunt bears in the snows of Edmonton? Which, of course, you only found out about by accident when a blood-stained snowshoe appeared under the couch....
The pretender "We don't call then nurses here," said Sister Emily. "They're Tenders, as they tend to you, see?" I didn't see actually, because I was in the hospital with a number of conditions one of which was post-traumatic blindness. The attending physician, or AP as the nurses -- I mean, Tenders -- liked to call him, had poked my eyes with something and said that my dilatory responses were normal and that my sight would come back as I relaxed. The he told the Tenders to count my legs again and left, and my blood-pressure monitor alarm went off as I wondered why my legs would need counting. "I don't see, actually," I said, trying to sound patient. Or at least like a patient patient, but I was getting quite annoyed with the level of so-called care in this so-called hospital. And no-one would tell me what the count of my legs was. "Oh yes," said Sister Emily. She sounded like she'd had a long day. "You're the one with the wonky eyes. Well, the staff who give you sponge baths and change your clothes are called Tenders." "Wait," I said, before she could continue. "I've not had a sponge bath!" "You were asleep every time," said Sister Emily. She sounded resigned as though she said this a lot. "Just like when we changed your clothes. You're wearing a lovely print summer-dress." In gold and black. "I'm a man!" I said, aghast. Why on earth was I being dressed up in women's clothes. A thought struck me. "Is this something to do with the count of my legs?" "No-one's counting your legs dear," said Sister Emily. "It would take too long. The dress is all we have at the moment until we get your uniform sewn back together. The trousers in particular were in a state you know. You're very lucky to be alive." My head reeled as I tried to assimilate all this information about my legs, my uniform and my good fortune to be alive, though (hopefully temporarily) blind. And sponge baths while I was unconscious. "I think there's a breach of GDPR in there somewhere," I said slowly, trying to figure things out. "The AP said it's all fine," said Sister Emily. "He said to make sure no more legs drop off and that we have to get your eyesight back first." "What?" That did not sound encouraging about my legs. I patted the bed where they should be, but felt nothing. "So, some additonal staff will assist you," said Sister Emily. "They'll be here before the Tenders in the morning; they'll introduce themselves." "As who?" I asked. "Like, Joe, Maureen, Bzztklk, that kind of introduction?" "No, no" said Sister Emily, and she yawned. "They'll let you know that they're the preTenders."
Greg - pfft, hadn't realized I'd put these two prompts together. Fair assumption on your part though.
This is a definitively unpleasant hospital experience. Particularly the legs thing. I do appreciate that Sister Emily seems very unconcerned about the goings on though!
2 comments:
Ah, that was quick! You've discovered that the nanny is a pretender only -- she can't fly through the air by umbrella and has completely failed to endanger the boys's lives by taking them on an 'adventure' to hunt bears in the snows of Edmonton? Which, of course, you only found out about by accident when a blood-stained snowshoe appeared under the couch....
The pretender
"We don't call then nurses here," said Sister Emily. "They're Tenders, as they tend to you, see?"
I didn't see actually, because I was in the hospital with a number of conditions one of which was post-traumatic blindness. The attending physician, or AP as the nurses -- I mean, Tenders -- liked to call him, had poked my eyes with something and said that my dilatory responses were normal and that my sight would come back as I relaxed. The he told the Tenders to count my legs again and left, and my blood-pressure monitor alarm went off as I wondered why my legs would need counting.
"I don't see, actually," I said, trying to sound patient. Or at least like a patient patient, but I was getting quite annoyed with the level of so-called care in this so-called hospital. And no-one would tell me what the count of my legs was.
"Oh yes," said Sister Emily. She sounded like she'd had a long day. "You're the one with the wonky eyes. Well, the staff who give you sponge baths and change your clothes are called Tenders."
"Wait," I said, before she could continue. "I've not had a sponge bath!"
"You were asleep every time," said Sister Emily. She sounded resigned as though she said this a lot. "Just like when we changed your clothes. You're wearing a lovely print summer-dress." In gold and black.
"I'm a man!" I said, aghast. Why on earth was I being dressed up in women's clothes. A thought struck me. "Is this something to do with the count of my legs?"
"No-one's counting your legs dear," said Sister Emily. "It would take too long. The dress is all we have at the moment until we get your uniform sewn back together. The trousers in particular were in a state you know. You're very lucky to be alive."
My head reeled as I tried to assimilate all this information about my legs, my uniform and my good fortune to be alive, though (hopefully temporarily) blind. And sponge baths while I was unconscious.
"I think there's a breach of GDPR in there somewhere," I said slowly, trying to figure things out.
"The AP said it's all fine," said Sister Emily. "He said to make sure no more legs drop off and that we have to get your eyesight back first."
"What?" That did not sound encouraging about my legs. I patted the bed where they should be, but felt nothing.
"So, some additonal staff will assist you," said Sister Emily. "They'll be here before the Tenders in the morning; they'll introduce themselves."
"As who?" I asked. "Like, Joe, Maureen, Bzztklk, that kind of introduction?"
"No, no" said Sister Emily, and she yawned. "They'll let you know that they're the preTenders."
Greg - pfft, hadn't realized I'd put these two prompts together. Fair assumption on your part though.
This is a definitively unpleasant hospital experience. Particularly the legs thing. I do appreciate that Sister Emily seems very unconcerned about the goings on though!
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