|From inside the Linda Blair Memorial Ward|
So, suffice to say, this week's letter was a little unsettling for us. As you can see from the picture he sent, some one really needs to talk to the folks that painted the interior of the clinic. Apparently they took their inspiration from Linda Blair's pea soup cavalcade of vomit from "The Exorcist." There's nothing soothing about those walls. I'm still trying to figure out what the big tank is next to his bed. Helium? Oxygen? Salsa? I don't even know and maybe it's best to not know. I'm just grateful that whatever the doctors did, it seemed to do the trick. He's better.
I will never lament medical care in the US again. Ever. Last year when my gall bladder decided that it no longer wanted to reside within me in the angriest ways possible, I spent two days at a teaching hospital. Some of our friends acted as if I'd gone to JoJo's Casa Of Chicken, Oil Changes and General Surgery when they learned that's where I'd opted to have my surgery. It may not have been the fanciest of hospitals but I had outstanding care from the 600 residents that paraded through my room every 42 seconds. I look at that picture my boy sent and I'm just grateful for the doctors and nurses who did their best caring for him with what the limited resources that they had. To say that we have it so well medically in this country is a massive understatement, in spite of what Fox News says.
The good news is that he was positive throughout his letter and his sense of humor is fervently in place. That made us feel a lot better. He assured us that he's feeling a whole lot better. He had to be if he was able to wax poetic about this meal:
|tacos bistec y guacamole|