Today, I was reminded of a recent contact report I failed to file at the time. It was our visit to Lexington Medical Center week before last. Mike Biediger, who runs the place, gave a tour to my boss, Henry Haitz; Mark Lett, the top editor in our newsroom; my colleague Warren Bolton; and yours truly. We got to see the hospital’s beautiful new North Tower with its capacious, well-designed rooms. We toured the operating rooms. We saw cool 3D computer scans of people’s vital parts. It was all most edifying, even though they didn’t actually let me cut on anybody.
I hadn’t written about it because I was determined to put together a video show of the tour, and haven’t found the time to edit my footage yet. But I was reminded that I should go ahead and post something today, when I took my Dad home from the place.
Ironically, less than a week after our tour, my Dad was a guest of the hospital, staying in that very North Tower we had toured. He’s been there most of the past week, and I had occasion to try out the comfortable daybeds they have built under the windows of each room. I had a nice snooze yesterday afternoon there; so I can report they work fine. Dad’s feeling much better now, by the way.
A literary footnote: Just before I went to get Dad, I was reading Zorro by Isabel Allende. I bought two copies of the book (one in English, the other in the original Spanish) at a discount sale at the beach over the summer. You might call it Peruvian pulp fiction. I was a huge "Zorro" fan as a kid — I speak of the old Walt Disney TV series. In fact my first watch was a Zorro watch (no Mickey Mouse for me), and I once had a toy épée with a piece of chalk on the end for writing Zs. Ms. Allende’s book was OK for light reading; I finished it just a few minutes ago. (Best part? She included both loyal sidekick Bernardo and lovable nemesis Sgt. Garcia as characters. Worst part? Possibly because it was written by a lady, it had too much romance and too few swordfights.) Anyway, just as I was about to go spring my Dad from the hospital, I was reading a part in which Don Diego was about to spring his father, Don Alejandro de la Vega, from a damp, dirty prison. It seemed like I saw a parallel there. Unfortunately, LMC’s new tower is much nicer than El Diablo prison, and there were no guards upon whom to scratch Zs, so as an adventure, it was a bust.
But it was nice to get Dad home.