I've got to go do some medical imaging this morning and it's been "NPO" -- nothing by mouth, only in Latin -- since 4:30 this morning.
This does nothing for my mood and less than nothing for my headache, so I will spare you my opinions this morning.
Since my scooter wreck in 2006, I have taken such orders seriously. I had been returning to work after picking up a nice sandwich -- corned beef on rye -- and I had, for some reason, taken the bag along in the ambulance when I grabbed my purse as they were loading me onto a fancy gurney. The ER was more than full. I'd been parked at the big desk in the middle while they waited for X-rays to come back and figured out what to do next. The sandwich smelled wonderful and when the physician who'd conducted the initial exam stopped by, I asked him if I could eat my lunch.*
"Oh, I don't know why not. You can't have more than a bad sprain, or you'd be hurting a lot more."
Rye bread, corned beef, Swiss cheese, a touch of mustard -- oh, that sandwich was good! I was just finishing up when a different doctor showed up, carrying X-ray images.
"Ma'am, looks like you have a spiral fracture of your right femur. There's an orthopedic surgeon in this evening and we'll-- Say, is that corned beef?" I nodded and there was a long pause. He looked at the wall clock. "Okay, we'll be admitting you and you'll have surgery first thing tomorrow morning."
I spent the night on pain meds with my leg strapped into an immobilizer.
* The sandwich place was right across the street from the hospital. So I ended up right back where I'd ridden from, having wrecked my motorscooter right outside the main gate to work. This worked out well; my co-workers snagged the scooter and left it in our warehouse until I could arrange to have it repaired.
BUILDING A 1:1 BALUN
1 year ago