Too Much Information?

For this inaugural post, I reflect on the need to share too much information.

I do it, you do it, the birds and bees do it.

Mom Joke

Last night, the hubby and I are on our way out to meet some friends. I'm gonna hang out with HER at some chi-chi boutique where the dress code "suggested" high heels a la Carrie Bradshaw...

The hubby would go hang out eating hot wings and drinking beers with HIM.

So I get all dolled up - barrel curled my hair, put on my True Religion jeans and my gulp 6″ dark red wedge heels. Yes 6″. They were totally cool.

We get in the car and I tell the hubby "your mom called...didn't hear the message..."

He calls her when we pull out of the driveway. I hear "we'll be right there." Turns out, she's feeling like she needs to go to the doctor - which if you knew us, you'd know this is serious.

We cancel our "chick party" and "beer fest" night. Boo.

Get to Kaiser and there's no one there. I know there's a recession but the ER is empty? With her chest pains, we go right in. They triage her asap and hook her up to gidgets and gadgets and IVs oh my. Now, before I get to the real story, shall I just say - she's fine. She had something that felt scary, but she's really okay today. I promise.

But here's the TMI story.

First, and I love me my Kaiser - I don't need to know what the hell is wrong with you sick people. If you present wearing a full face mask and a protective sheet around your lap, let's just say I'm on a need to know basis. And trust me, I don't need to know...

Which is how I felt when the big guy was wheeled in.

Outside our curtain, nurse Betty asks "have you been sick long" and he replies in a mumbled voice due to the bacteria resistant mask "yeah for a few weeks." Then she asks:

"Have you been nauseous?" Reply "Yes"

"Vomiting?" Reply "Yes"

"Diarrhea?" Reply "Yes"

Seriously? I was just sitting on the toe-end of my 70 year old mother-in-law and this about put me over the edge... (Yes, I realize that statement gave me devil horns.)

No better time to use the little girls room. Clickity click clicking down the hallway in my 6″ dark red wedge heels was oddly uncomfortable in the stark hallways at the hospital en route to the pee pee potty.

Now, I must admit I watch some medical drama TV so I could only imagine what the heck was going on, and yes, the inner gossip girl in me wanted to know the salacious details with the patient next door, but the adult woman in me who respects your privacy didn't want the added drama.

So I only listened with one ear out the curtain. The other one was watching Master Chef.

As Sharone was kicked off the island of misfit home chefs, the techs, nurses, and doctors continued to arrive next door only to pause, collect themselves, and put on their game faces before entering the land of the lost.

Now, I'm not sure but I highly suspect based on my {unwanted?} observations of their conversations and actions and his appearance that he had... dut dut dut duh.....flesh eating bacteria....

Now is this fact? No - come on, I don't have the nerve to ask - but I can ask if it was simply happenstance that we were there, the answers were heard, the visuals were clear? Or was it merely a common case of too much information?

Too Much Information?

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