Live from Little Rock – it’s…oh, my G-d it’s Little Rock.
Yep, I’m here. First, let me say that Little Rock is a lovely little town. Everyone is very nice. Really nice. Like, cars actually stop and wait for a pedestrian to cross the street nice. It’s unnerving. Rush hour traffic is 4 cars waiting at a light. Seriously!
My folks were lucky enough to score a very sweet pad in an awesome high-rise building that overlooks the river for their stay here…too bad they aren’t here – the hospital has nothing on this place. Out the window in bedroom number one is the (wait for it)…Clinton library…complete with his 6,000 square foot residence on the top. I can’t even look at it.
After visiting with my mom at the hospital for awhile, Dad and I went to grab a bite of dinner. Actually, we decided to go find a restaurant where we could pick something up and bring it back to the FabuPad to eat. So he took me to the Dixie Café (or something like that). The menu was as you’d expect, fried catfish, fried chicken, fried okra and… fried corn on the cob.
I shit you not. My arteries got a little constricted just reading it.
I didn’t know what to expect when I came here, but I will carry the following image in my head as a landmark memory of my time in Little Rock, brief though it may be. I got off the plane and headed straight to baggage claim. I was waiting at the carousel for the handlers to start throwing baggage down the chute when I noticed the carousel next to us was for a Delta flight coming in from Orlando. The passengers had on the requisite Mickey Mouse shirts, bags with Magic Kingdom on it and many, many Disney Princess items scattered about. But upon second glance, I realized most of the passengers also resembled each other in another way.
Most of the men were dressed as follows:
Cut off shorts (khaki)
Flip flops of varying degrees of “worn”
HUNTING SHIRTS, people. Not t-shirts with hunting slogans. ACTUAL HUNTING SHIRTS.
That is all.
Mom is holding her own, but not out of the woods just yet. I am of no help to her whatsoever, except that I bring stories from home and can try to carry on a conversation about something other than drugs, nurses and vital signs for a short time. She’s had some terrible nurses (OMG) and upon hearing these stories I immediately told my dad to pick up the phone to call a family friend here who is closely associated with the medical center so that she may open up a can of whoopass on the appropriate hospital administrators. He wasn’t so inclined to do that immediately (as he was busy trying to save my mom’s life), but today when she called to check in he did mention a few details of their difficult experiences. Thirty minutes later they had two administrators in mom’s room apologizing and addressing the issues. Damn straight. And we ain’t done yet, bitches.
Again, I know I can’t do much, but I know where to find the big sticks to swing in a hospital. And I brought my bat with me this time. I’ll relay some of the stories later after everyone is past this.
Dad’s at the hospital again for the night – he hasn’t slept in 40 hours. Because of the horrible nursing experience – and one horrible night where he thought he’d lost her – he won’t leave her alone until she’s really well. It’s a sad state of affairs, but he has had to play doctor more than once on this journey because the care is more than a little disconnected, to say the least.
I, for the first time in 10 weeks, will get to sleep all night…allegedly. I doubt I will, though. And then tomorrow I’ll go sit with mom while dad comes back to the FabuPad to work a little, shower and sleep.
That’s about all I can do. But at least it’s something.