Old Times at Huntington Hospital
I spent a day and a night at Huntington Memorial Hospital last week for some tests and I saw a lot of friends on the professional staff.
Coming back to Huntington Memorial is like a class reunion. I have spent a good deal of time with these people in the last two years what with my various malfunctions. Maureen in the admitting office is a friend and managed to get me in my old room, a large one at the end of the corridor with two upholstered chairs centered by a lamp table and a bathroom with a large bathtub.
Hospital lore has it that it’s the room where Bing Crosby once stayed.
People become attached to the areas where they have had a pleasant time under sometimes difficult circumstances.
When I sailed down the corridor to No. 3500 in my wheelchair, I whooped with delight at each nurse I recognized. It’s a comforting feeling to know that the same nurses who have taken care of me before are still there--careful, professional, knowledgeable, pleasant, funny.
Most people, except the very brave or the very unknowing, are afraid in hospitals and the staff people who greet the patient with a smile and a pleasant word are magic workers. Good nurses are surely given a course in making the patient feel like an instant friend instead of one more added annoyance in the doctor’s day.
A hospital is like a self-contained city. News or tasty gossip makes the tour of the hospital corridors like a well-aimed laser beam. Within three minutes, according to carefully monitored tests, a bit of news can start at the front door and hit the back, not missing an alcove nor a storage closet.
My friends’ lives have been making rewarding advances in the two years since I have been there.
Mary Knight, one of the marvelous nurses on 35, went this year to see her parents in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan.
A nurse named Vicki Young has a 2-year-old named Deanna who is old enough to have doll tea parties and offer cookies to the doll guests. Last time I saw Vicki, she was working on her museum-quality collection of miniature furnished rooms. “I don’t have time for them now, with Deanna. I’m too busy going to doll tea parties,” she said.
Sandy Leon, one of my special friends, has a husband who is a pharmacist and a new baby named Michelle.
Marsia McAtee and her husband have a son named Ryan and a new one name Cinjon. Marsia coined the name because she liked its sound and now she has been told by an American Indian friend that it is a well-respected name among his tribe. Marsia has an Aztec heritage and the second son has red hair. She learned that Cinjon means rising sun-- a fortuitous name.
Diane Newton and Ruth Wong were on 35 and delights to see. Diane is a Mount St. Mary’s nursing school graduate. My friend Joan Morelli who is normally in charge on 35 is a marvelous friend and great executive. One time she put a note on my door after a surgery that said, “No visitors. Zan can’t say no, but I can.”
One night a few years ago, when a wild, wind-whipped rain was lashing the window of my room, a large, burly man came in and brought me apple juice and graham crackers. He told me that he was descended from Irish brigands. He is a wonderful nurse named Keith Mooney.
On this last brief visit, I was prowling the halls before the 7 a.m. shift change and Keith said, “Do you want some coffee?”
Of course I did. Keith knew why I was wandering the halls, a waif looking for an eye-opening cup.
I’m sure that the other floors in the hospital are filled with friendly, professional people but these are my own. And I’ll bet that nowhere else is there a young woman from Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, and an Irish brigand who will slip you a cup of coffee before the official start of a new day.