Sunday, June 13, 2010
3:40 AM
You Could At Least Buy Me Dinner First
The hospital where I was born. You'd think I would have nothing but sweet memories of the place given the fact that such a monumentous thing happened there. I mean, next to the birth of Christ, the day I was born was definitely the best day ever recorded in the annals of time, for sure, lol, but unfortunately they didn't listen to my parents when they suggested the board just close the hospital down, put up the little velvet ropes and ticket booth, and charge visitors $20 a head to see the place where I, the prized princess of Youngsland made her much-anticipated entry into this previously colorless world. I guess ya live, ya learn. General West was one of the most depressing places on the planet. In defense of those who ran it, it must have been incredibly hard to follow up an act as brilliant as the one my mom and I put on that cold January night back in 19**. Really, it could only have gone downhill from that point, no matter what they did. LOLWhen I was about 4, my dad and brother had a near-fatal motorcycle accident. My dad's skull was severely cracked and initially, he wasn't expected to live. Because of that, he and Bernie were in the hospital for several weeks and I was forced to stay with my grandparents. I loved my grandparents dearly but staying with them was much like a prison stay. That, however, is another story for another time. I had been to the hospital with my parents to visit friends a couple of times before the accident and hated the atmosphere there even under happier familial circumstances. Visiting my mom there (and ONLY seeing her there for several weeks), knowing that my dad and brother were lying upstairs seriously hurt was just more than I could stand. GW was old, dark, and void of anything resembling hope or happiness. I came to hate that place with a passion. Thankfully, our family received the miracle for which we prayed. Both my dad and my brother got well and were eventually discharged giving me a much-needed reprieve from the hospital and farm life. When I was about 6, we had to return, but only for a few hours because Prince Bernie broke his nose playing football. While he was receiving treatment, I wandered down the hall to find my grandma who worked in the kitchen there. I'll never forget it because when I walked up to say hello to her, she asked, "Now which one are you?". Even after I told her, it took her a couple of minutes to put it together. Yeah. My Granny Mom and I were tight. There were a few other late-night ER visits over the years relating to my asthma, and a few basketball injuries but none as traumatic as the visit I made there when I was 10. Long story short, I stepped on a footstool that my brilliant and thoughtful brother (hi, Bernie!) placed by the porch in the dark one night. (I tried to talk them out of setting his broken hip after the motorcyle wreck but no, they had to be all parental and help him heal which cost me big, as we all knew it would, lol) In attempt to catch myself while also carrying a glass of strawberry pop and a sugar donut, I somehow swung around and straddled the sharp corner of said cement porch, slicing a deep and painful gash into my private parts that caused shreiking that was heard around the world. My parents rushed me to the ER, where I was stuck, poked, scraped, and prodded in places that were supposed to be off-limits to everyone for at least another 8-10 years. Some burning cleanser, a few injections in my vagina, and a pee pee full of stitches? Yes. I'd say losing my virginity to a porch was a tad unpleasant. Our city got a new hospital a few years after that and the old one became a part of the prison system. I think that's fitting since, as far as I'm concerned, the people who gave me shots in my vagina belong behind bars awaiting execution. Still, to this very day, I experience some sort of phantom pain in my tingly little naughty parts every time I pass by the place where a doctor, a team of nurses, and both of my parents struggled for hours to hold me down on a gurney while I screamed for Jesus to save me from a most traumatic deflowering.: )