Going to the Hospital? BYOB

While most folks go to the hospital only when they must, it would seem a given that a good bed is essential to the healing process. Not so much.

Apparently hospital beds are an afterthought--much like the food that is erratically served in most places.

While bed frames now come with all the whistles and frills--like "in-console" TV controls and weight meters at the end of the bed, hospital mattresses are the eighth wonder of the ancient world. I believe that hospital mattresses in America were all made before 1945, then stored in an old barn until they were totally useless. Then someone got the bright idea to sell them to hospitals. After all, the people are too sick to complain! A lumpy bed is the least of their problems.

Adding insult to injury, family staying with the patients have been treated to fold out beds that masquerade as uncomfortable chairs. With luck, an engineering degree from MIT, the persistent person can reshape their uncomfortable chair into an equally uncomfortable bed.

In my wife's room, the fold out bed resembled a slab for a cadaver in the local morgue. It felt just as comfortable. I first discovered the fold out bed when I mistook the thing for a chair. When I sat down, the seat began to roll out and I quickly found myself admiring the ceiling. On the whole, hospital ceilings are rather understated and not given the attention they deserve.

Having discovered the bed, I began to attempt to assemble that feature of the furniture. Having previous experiences with such devices, I knew to start early and be persistent if I expected to sleep on the contraption come nightfall.

It only took two days to get it to work. The first night was like sleeping on the exam table in the doctor's office. You know the one: the shelf slides out for your feet. The only problem is the shelf is a full half foot below the rest of the table. Yea, it is so comfortable, a fold out bed has been designed for the hospital room using the same inspired design. The next night I discovered the shelf could actually be moved up and one could have a cadaver slab instead of an examining table.

So Anna on her bed, and me on mine, we dozed off blissfully confident that the $2500.00 a night was not for a "sleep master," extra cushioned, twelve pillowed bed. Nor was it for gourmet food tastefully presented and wonderfully nutritious. Nope, we were paying that much for Anna to come under the healing touch of a back surgeon whose knowledge and skill would stand up to bad beds and interesting meals.

And miracle of miracles, somehow, she would leave the hospital better off than when she came. The back would be repaired--no thanks to the bed in which she stayed. The body would be healing no thanks to the meals.

And the husband would be glad to move from the morgue to the bedroom.