In the crook of each elbow is
a stuck-in, well-taped-down IV attachment. One is for your
nitroglycerine drip. The other is for all manner of things going in
and for blood going out. I have improved, so I have been taken off the
pulse-ox monitor taped to my left index fingertip and have moved up
smartly from a stationary to a portable heart monitor in the breast
pocket of my show-your-ass hospital gown. (Would the Foxists, Tea
Partiers and extremists of all ilks be amenable to Obamacare if it
solved the major national health issue of hospital gowns? Silly me.) The
portable monitor is wired to leads on my partially shaved chest (not a
pretty picture; aren't you thankful I spared you one? Trust me, you
are.) I am talking ticker, if not Tribe, via Wi-Fi to who knows where,
probably including my Facebook account, if I had one. On my left arm
(photo taken in a mirror, so it is on the right) is my in-place blood
pressure cuff, which I later didn't have to wear when I improved enough
to no longer be telementary-necessary. You can barely see that I have on
my wrist my purple ER ID band and my white CCU ID band. Hot stuff. But
the best thing is right outside my room. Hot coffee, 24-7. (It's part
of Obamacare.)
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