Ostomy Memories of an XKE

DURING THE FINAL 3 ½ MONTHS in the hospital, leading up to my ostomy surgery, there was a staff social worker who used to come into my room for periodic visits.  She was a statuesque blonde and, since I was only twenty-one at the time, I looked forward to her showing up, even though I was not, shall we say, feeling very flirtatious.  One day, she helped me out of bed and walked me over to the window.  “There’s my car,” she said proudly, pointing at a golden Jaguar XKE in the parking lot below.  “When you get better,” she promised, “you can take it for a spin.”  Unbeknownst to me at the time, she had been advised that my getting “better” was unlikely.  As it turned out, of course, I did get better, left the hospital with my new ostomy, and came back a little later to thank the hospital staff, who had never seen me ambulatory.  Naturally, I paid a visit to the blonde, who flashed me an obviously faux “glad to see you” smile.  I stood by her office window, looking down at the beautiful XKE.  “So, when can I drive your XKE?” I asked.  That’s when the hemming and hawing commenced.  She was pretty much a sixth- rate liar.  I saw that I wasn’t going to get anywhere near that Jag.  I affected as off handed a departure as I could manage, decided against keying her car as I left, and never looked back.  I assume that she eventually married a doctor and lived happily ever after.  I’ve still never been in a Jaguar.

I had the hottest nurse when I was in the hospital for one 12-hour shift on a Sunday night. I hardly knew where I was and could hardly move. However, I made it to my feet so she could put a new gauze pad thingy on my butt. I don't think she enjoyed it nearly as much as I did. No idea what she drove to work, but she drove me nuts for 12 hours.

Oh my, you mean the only hot thing I remember when I was in the hospital was shizz in my diaper when no one came for a long time after I rang the buzzer for assistance and the nurses were a "no-show."

Hi guys, I believe it's called the Stockholm Syndrome. You're in their captivity and they look pretty good until they pick up a hypo. LOL

Not in my case, this lady would be stunningly beautiful no matter where she was and no matter what profession she was in.

Words of Encouragement from Ostomy Advocates I Hollister

Perhaps, in Alex's case, we can call it FMBB syndrome (Fix My Butt Bandage).

Hello HenryM.

I've been in a few different Jaguars and (from my perspective) I prefer the Subaru WRX. Although I always thought the 'E'type was the best-looking road car, but that was in the days when I could hardly afford a bicycle. 
As for social workers, they seem to be a reflection of many others in the human race, in that some of them simply cannot be trusted.
I wrote the first rhyme (below) for a client who had felt that they been badly let down by a social worker and I was sent in to pick up the emotional pieces. At first it was entitled ‘Social Worker’s Cannot Be Trusted’, but, by the time I had written it the title had changed.
 
The second rhyme was in a similar vein but referred to a situation where someone described their traumatic incident as ‘friendly fire’. At the time, I felt that there was no adequate, single ‘word’ for this situation so, (as is my wont) I invented a word and rhymed the definition.

These sorts of rhymes were very useful to help clarify people’s thinking on disturbing, emotional reactions to the trauma of being let-down.

Best wishes

Bill

RESPECT FOR YOU HAS CHANGED

 I respected you then 
as maybe a friend,
and relaxed in your company.

We could laugh and would joke
because freely we spoke
our friendship felt good to me.

I was never aware
that danger lurked there
I did not look, so did not see.

Maybe it’s right
that a snake coiled to strike
should choose easy targets like me.

My lack of insight
to your venomous bite 
has since left its mark on me.

Your friendly facade
was just a charade
as camouflage tends to be.

I misjudged the climate
for you were not my mate
nor’ never likely to be.

One tiny mistake
showed your friendship was fake 
and you had been playing with me. 

As you might expect
I still have respect
but it’s not like it used to be.

It’s sad, but it’s true 
I must now think of you 
as maybe my enemy.

                           B. Withers (1993)
(Pp-39/40 in:  Inverse Feedback: An Alternative Psycho-Social Therapy? 1995.)

MAKEDA’S = MAKE DANGEROUS ALLIES.

The verb ‘MakeDA’ simply means
“To destroy a potential friend” it seems.
The noun ‘MakeDA’ indicates
“An act or person who perpetrates”

A MakeDA may not recognise
friends, or things they symbolise.
Those signs that show who’s on whose side
get confused and coincide.

MakeDA’s believe they’re always right
so may feel they ‘have’ to fight.
from each beginning to the bitter end 
 they know no line ‘tween foe or friend.

What next might MakeDA’s misconstrue,
there’s little left for clerihew.
for filled with torment, turmoil and pain
who wants to see them ever again.

MakeDA’s are not from some ‘opposite side’,
so, there’s no place to run and nowhere to hide.
The logic is easy – if shot by a foe,
it’s very much harder with someone you know.

Though they may show they’re keen or kind,
a question is left within my mind.
As MakeDA’s have this fatal flaw
why give to them the tools of war?

                                         B. Withers 26/05/94  
(Pp- 91/92 in:  Inverse Feedback: An Alternative Psycho-Social Therapy? 1995.)

It's called Nightingale syndrome. I have the same issues with stunningly beautiful nurses as well, which has nothing to do with physical beauty, although that doesn't hurt at all. Be nice to me and actually listen to why I called, or just listen to me, and I fall for that nurse; it never fails.
My in-home nurse told me a little nursing tip: if the nurse is in your room a lot and you are doing fine, it means the nurse likes you and is hiding from her pain-in-the-ass patients. I've mentioned my nurse Amanda many times; she's actually a friend now and does email me to make sure I'm doing okay, as does Katie, who is new to my Nightingale mix. I know I'm having a good hospital day if I'm getting Amanda during the day and Katie at night.

Amanda is all of about 5'3" and drives some sort of urban assault vehicle. She is single and wears the BIGGEST "don't you dare hit on me" ring I've ever seen. I had to laugh when I said something off-color then apologized instantly; it was a marriage joke of some kind. She said, "Paul, I'm single. That's just a 'don't hit on me' ring. I got divorced years ago. Good joke."
No idea what the joke was.