After discovering that large modern institutions now operate on a whole different set of rules and procedures than anyone suspects, Lewis Grossberger’s Raw Truth Bulletin began its prize-winning investigative “What Is A ——?” series. So far, we’ve explained to our readers What Is A Store?, What Is a Corrupt Police Station? and, to enormous acclaim, What Is a Veterinarian’s Office? The idea was to break down a complex system into simple components, so simple that any nitwit could understand. Well, nitwit alert! We continue our remarkable series today with “What Is a Hospital?”
It used to be that any curious citizen seeking the definition of a hospital could be content with the classic answer given in the 1978 film '‘Airplane:” “It’s a large building with doctors and nurses inside—but that’s not important now.”
How things have changed. The modern hospital is a very different place, though still housed in a large building with doctors and nurses inside. But now they’re not the only ones. There are others.
What is a patient? If the hospital were a factory, the patient would be both the raw material and the finished product. As fun as that sounds, not just anyone can become a patient. You must apply and to be accepted, you must have symptoms. Better symptoms than the other guy’s. Hospital admissions are super-competitive today. Every emergency room (admittance office) has moaning, incredulous applicants stacked ceiling high. It’s never too early in life to start working on your symptoms.
What are symptoms? The best possible symptom for hospital admission is multiple gunshot wounds threatening immediate cessation of life. If you have those symptoms, go right to the head of the line! While “I’m shot multiple times!” used to be quite a rare cry to hear, today it is commonplace, so don’t think, “Oh, I’ll never be able to achieve that. That’s for some really lucky guy.”
Who is the Man on the Wall? The man on the wall is also called the donor, the benefactor, the patron and U.S. Prisoner #4106904.. He is the only person who can be admitted for to the hospital for treatment without symptoms, a privilege extended to his entire family. He is so popular with the administrators, they sometimes change the name of the entire hospital, or its trendiest department, to his. This means that when he is a patient, the donor does not need to keep repeating his name and date of birth, and can just point to the wall.
Who are the administrators? No one knows. And it’s best not to ask, if you know what’s good for you.
What is a nurse? A nurse can always be quickly spotted; just look for someone putting on a new pair of latex gloves. Nurses are the busiest people in the hospital. They can do anyone else’s job, and often do. A nurse can clean up a mess, complete a brain surgery, jump in a bed and feel pain or, in a pinch, donate $6 billion to the hospital.
What is a doctor? Doctors are chosen for their fantastic medical vocabularies, which they spew out at a rate that can stun an ordinary person and render him unconscious in a matter of seconds. The ones with indecipherable foreign accents are especially prized. Patients come from afar to hear the the more famously incomprehensible doctors share their enigmatic counsel.
What about Emergency Rooms? I hear there are some which allow sick people to wait as long as 14 hours before being shunted off to a hospital room? That must be like binge-watching E.R., no? Was it as thrilling as they say?
Hospital stories, I've got a million of them. Here's just one. After a botched eye surgery I presented at the retinal clinic of a prominent Boston hospital with eye pressure three times normal, causing me to faint and fall to the floor. Fast forward to the aftermath of time spent in the ER of an adjacent world famous hospital where I had a lovely nap caused by a shot of Dilaudid, aka hospital heroin. I had been stretchered back and forth between hospitals via a convenient underground tunnel. Time to be admitted overnight for observation. It was 1:00 am at that point. I was just awake enough to perceive the return of pain. I asked for a pillow, as I was lying flat like a cadaver in a morgue. But Admitting Nurse Rached said, "Not until you sign these admission forms." I remarked, "I can't see what I'm signing and just woke up from a Dilaudid nap. My signature at this point is null & void. Just give me the f-ing pillow." No dice, said Nurse Rached. At this point being married showed its advantage, as my wife intervened after I yelled, "Call a taxi. Get me outta here!" I finally got the pillow. At home a week later I pasted a color photo of Louise Fletcher in her Academy Award winning role onto my letter to the president of Hospital #1. Another week went by and the phone rang. It was Nurse Rached, hilariously pretending to be someone else, offering a bland apology. I knew it was her from the timbre of her voice. But I mercifully went along with the ruse, knowing that someone was standing with a gun to her head, forcing her to call me.