Hospital of the Angels’ Minor Mistake

The side effects from my 2003 brain tumor surgery didn’t show up immediately. At first I thought the strange feelings were simply from the loss of a portion of my brain. You see, Mum had always scolded me and told me to use my brain whenever I did something dumb, which was quite often. I honestly think trying to obey her for years caused the brain tumor, but don’t quote me on that.

Anyway, when I finally came home from two weeks in the hospital followed by a week at rehab, I felt people around me were a bit “off.” After a few very strange days went by, I finally realized I could actually hear them even when they weren’t saying anything. Do you have any idea how weird it is to know the young cashier at the grocery store planned on keying his manager’s new Lexus after work? When I looked at him in shock, this innocent boy smiled widely and thanked me for shopping at Safeway.

Determined to think this was a fluke, I decided a pleasant lunch at Denny’s would be just the thing to get me back on the road to recovery. By now I’d forgotten how strange I looked with my hair shaved off the top and one side. Because of that and the very long dent on top of my head, a rather rude person had given me the nickname of “Turtlehead.” I think that was very mean of him, don’t you? I admit I did resemble a Klingon from the “Star Trek” series, but by calling me that name, this person was not just insulting me but every Klingon through the universe. Deep down in his psyche, he must have a death wish.

After a Denny’s waitress seated me at a booth, I heard her say, “Geez, they let anyone come in here.” At least I think she said it, although I didn’t see her mouth move. Could she be a ventriloquist or something? When I frowned at her and ordered a tuna salad sandwich and coffee, she said, again without moving her mouth, “I hope the cook threw away that spoiled mayo before making the tuna salad. Oh well, I’m not going to eat it.” She left before I could change my mind and order something that wouldn’t possibly give me food poisoning.

Thankfully, the cook must have used fresh mayo, and I finished my lunch without further incident. Driving home, I stopped at a red light and looked over at the car stopped next to me. The woman in it was clenching the steering wheel, her knuckles white from tension. Through both our closed windows, I heard her say, “I didn’t mean to do it. It was an accident, but how will I ever explain it?” What she did must have been bad because she was crying, but the light turned green before I could hear anything else. Oh well, not my problem.

Driving carefully into my driveway, I spotted my next-door neighbor out in his yard and gave a friendly wave. When I got out of the car and opened the back to take out my groceries, I swear my neighbor said, “You’d think the silly woman would know how to park straight after all these years.” I looked at my car and did notice I’d come into my driveway to end up at a slight angle. He must have been talking about someone else, though. I think he didn’t notice me waving since he didn’t wave back. Shrugging, I took the groceries into my home after taking the mail from my mailbox on the porch.

I put away the food before opening my mail because I had forgotten I’d bought ice cream that had melted while I ate lunch. It was junk mail mostly anyway. There was one long official-looking envelope from the hospital where I recently had my brain surgery. “Probably another bill, although what else can they charge me for?” Almost every day since I got home there had been a bill from either the hospital or the surgeon. Oh yeah, I shouldn’t forget the ambulance charge for the wonderful ride between my home and the hospital on that fateful day.

Opening the envelope, I pulled out a formal letter on which was written:

         Dear Ms. Buxton:

         I regret to inform you of a very minor incident that occurred during your recent surgery. It seems Dr. Albertson accidentally left an extremely small instrument behind when he closed your incision. Since it is located in your brain, he feels you might be experiencing unexpected side effects. For this reason, Dr. Albertson wanted us to let you know he will be willing to remove the tiny piece of metal. This, of course, will be at no extra cost to you.

         We have enclosed a pre-stamped envelope and form on which you can let us know what your decision is. If you decide not to undergo this very minor, additional brain surgery, we need you to sign the form, releasing us from all liability from this little oversight.

         With warm regards from Hospital for the Angels.

Okay, at least they admitted their mistake, but would you call leaving an instrument behind in a brain a minor incident?

I thought long and hard for the rest of the day and late into the night about what I should do. Did I really want someone poking around my brain for a second time? I don’t think so. Was hearing what people were thinking enough to let someone open up the dent in my head? No way!

Only after I signed the release and mailed it back did the additional side effect hit me. Hearing voices in my head was one thing, but now I’d started to share the feelings of everyone nearby. Can you imagine how disconcerting it is to experience my neighbor’s distaste for his wife’s meatloaf or giggle foolishly when he tickles his baby boy?

I didn’t think so!