Ironically Designed…

NHBPM Day 7: “Redesign a doctor’s office or hospital room.

If  today wasn’t the definition of “irony”…

*headdesk*

I’ve spent 11 hours over today and yesterday with my oldest son at our city’s children’s hospital.

I have been through enough as a mother of five, and I’m pretty well versed in the stuff that I’ve NOT had to endure with my spawnlings from other momma friends of mine.

I am also privileged to have some pretty darn healthy kids.  Normal stuff of childhood illnesses, scary as they can be.

But nothing…NOTHING has ever compared to my 17 year old son doubled over in pain so bad he had tears streaming down his face and that he could barely manage to walk up the stairs to the main level.  Ambulance time.

Loooooooooooooooong story short, he’s fine and will continue to be fine for the next while.

However, sitting my I’ve-earned-this-ass around a hospital for 11 hours made me REALLY itchin’ to get to this beauty of a prompt.

*let’s not forget the current rheumatoid arthritis/lupus flare*

First of all, I am convinced that chairs were made my man.  No insult meant, but this momma’s got herself some back.  Nice hourglass thang goin’ on.  I need me some mo-fo support on my buttocks, savvy?  Fix the chairs.  Put some padding on them.  Holy cripes my ass is going to be numb for a week!

Dude.

Would a “colour” of paint really put a kink in your whole Decor Overlord plans to take over all that is humanly possibly BLAND?

Oh, I see what you did there…you painted a square or three on the wall.

Cheap-ass buggers, aren’t ya.

Much has been written about colour therapy.

Google it!

I didn’t realize that “Run head-first into a wall off-white” was the hue-du-jour.

Even my contacts were getting fuzzy.

Considering we were at CHEO (Children’s Hospital of Eastern Ontario), the beds made me all warm and squishy inside.  They were low to the ground.  They are, most assuredly, NOT low to the ground at my physician’s office.  No, there is this piss-ant little stool that looks like it can’t support more than the weight of my (albeit rather beefy) cat.  I’m supposed to step up onto said Lego-block-on-toothpicks and gracefully turn onto my bottom and sit delicately on the paper-roll liner that graces the bed.

Dude.  I look as graceful as a pregnant cow spun around three times and told to find “downward dog.”

Landing on the moon was easier than landing my I’ve-earned-this-ass upon that paper trail of hygiene.

LOWER.  THE.  DAMN.  BEDS.

I’ll be honest…there’s probably 100+ things I could suggest to make my time at my doctor’s office more pleasant and definitely more ergo-friendly…but I have to say…even after the past sessions at the hospital with my oldest son…

I am DAMN glad that I live in a country where the ambulance is covered by my insurance and I can obtain all the medical care I need for myself and my family.

This, my dear friends, is most assuredly my:

 

This post was written for Wego Health’s National Blog Post Month, 2012.

 

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