Dear Security Guard:
Thanks for asking me to see my ID. I really appreciate your concern for the safety of the patients at the hospital. However—and, as I mentioned—I’m generally waived by the desk because of my cool blue armband. In fact, I’ve been sent on down the hall each and every day for the past 23 days because of my lovely blue armband.
You see, this tattered piece of plastic means that I have a child who is in one of the ICU’s. It’s kind of a reverse status symbol, if you follow my irony. It means that, of all the crap I gots to worry about, I generally don’t need to worry about showing my stupid driver’s license and signing your high-tech registry (which I’m sure does a lot to deter terrorists).
But I understand that you’ve got a uniform, and so I need to comply with your misunderstanding. Sorry for throwing my little nametag into the trash.
Dear PICU Families:
I’m quite certain you can read. You, like me, see the sign that asks us to call back to the unit to request admission. That’s me, standing there waiting for someone to pick up the phone so that I can go see my son (again). I know you think you’re really cool when you wait by the door and then dash in when it opens, but I think all of us would be better off if you’d just wait your turn.
Oh, and while we’re talking about signs, let me point out another one to you. You may have missed it in your all-fired rush to get inside. It’s close to each of the sinks you walk by: “All Visitors Must Wash Hands Before Entering PICU”. It means that everyone needs to wash their hands before they go to see their loved one. Yes, even if you washed your hands last Thursday, and yes, even if you last pit-stop was only for #1, and yes, even if you really, really want to see someone, right now. And even if you don’t give a hot crap if anyone or everyone inside gets sick. Wash your hands, dear heart. And please keep them and your runny nose out of my child’s bed. Thanks.
Dear Guy in The Waiting Room:
I really appreciate your concern, and homily (last night, and tonight). And, especially, your repeated admonition to “just pray”. I guess it’s true that, as you suggest, “it’s the only way that everything’s gonna be alright.” But I’m not sure that the converse is true.
So please take your half-baked, prosperity-based, goody-for-me, ill-considered, un-requested theology and go somewhere else. And when you get home tonight, please take your giant Bible and tear out the book of Job. It’s in the middle, right before the Psalms. Which you should also remove.