Shoes the Boss

Esophagogastroduodenoscopy. Say that three times fast. We just refer to it as "an EGD," and actually it's not much easy to say that three times fast, either. Anyways, his showed a little esophageal scarring and no active bleed, his bloodwork was stable, so he got a ticket home.

But he couldn't find his boots. "Black and size 9&1/2," he said, adding that he thought somebody had stolen them. Not bloody likely. He was a nice enough guy, very gracious, and I genuinely liked him, but there is probably not a junkie in the city that would steal anything worn by him. Street waifs in Bangalore are not much less-dressed than this sweet soul.

I spent more time calling various departments, Security, the emergency room staff, patient relations, etc., than I spent working on one or another of my other patients.

No boots. We've sent people home in socks many times before. He wasn't going for it. He said he was going to get a lawyer and call the TV station about this. Not that I'd blame him. In that kind of situation I myself would relish being interviewed before the cameras. I look bad on camera, though. Garrison Keillor looks better, and he has devoted his life to radio, for reasons I can directly relate to.

Just because the whole thing kinda was stuck in my craw, I mentioned it to my boss when I ran into her. I just felt like griping, but really I almost didn't tell her because I do not want to be seen as a complainer, though all nurses are, intrinsically, down to their very bones.

So she later came by me and said "I'm going to go to PayLess to get him some new boots. I had him draw a picture of them for me."

?!

I offered a few bucks to her. Not much, as I'd already been tapped for a "last day" party for one of our better nurses who was moving on to a specialty area within the hospital. I overheard the same boss tell that nurse that they were welcome back to our unit anytime, the door was always open.

Funny that. The previous boss was very cool to that nurse, probably due to their open advocacy for unionization. Anti-Arnold stickers and articles posted regularly on their locker door. Cool.

So my boss went and got the guy a pair of new boots, and he was so astonishingly grateful and effusive in his praise for her, for me, for the hospital itself.

Entire days can go by without seeing another person as happy as he was that day. I doubt that those meat-packers who won the lottery were much happier. At least not for long.

My car stalled out on my way home, and I pushed it into a bank parking lot where it now still sits. But I have shoes. Several pairs, actually, not that I'm too proud or anything. And I know how to use these.

I've had many good teachers.