LJIDOL PROMPT 'HAUTE'
Jan. 28th, 2011 02:57 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
basricI had various ways to go with this prompt. At eighteen I ran away to New York City and lucked onto a job as a runway model for Valentino Garavani. Stayed for a year. Haute Couture sounds exciting but actually is quite boring. I got tired of glass and steel and having my breasts bound, wearing clothes totally unrealistic for real life and hours on my feet. So I came home to my green Tennessee.
My sister married a Country Music Producer, Publisher and mogul who owned Tree (sold for a several hundred million and is now SonyTree) and the Stockyard Restaurant in Nashville. My sister likes to go to Paris twice a year and Rome and takes her hard working sister--me, with her where I was introduced to Haute Cuisine. There I discovered my palate was not very discriminating; give me Southern cooking any day. Haute Cuisine is magazine cover pretty but has no substance and I thought little taste being the barbarian I am. Again--boring.
I’ve been to the little French town, Lus La Croix Haute . . . charming but again-boring.
So let’s go look for Haute at the hospital. You say there's nothing high class about being in a hospital? Let's see.
Wednesday night I was working in the surgical post-op/trauma-9South--before trauma split into its own floor, 11North.
A man dressed in black screaming government cop, left my manager’s office, paused, looked me over and the front desk and left the floor.
The night went smoothly until about midnight when engineering came onto the floor and began emptying Room 924. Now all thirty-six of our rooms are private except the two corner ones. They have two beds but one is for a patient and the other families can use.
Once empty the Sanitation Department people came next. No one knew why, all I had was a note not to put anyone in the room. They were still working when I left for home.
Thursday night I walked across into the main entrance which is the second floor from the garage instead of using the fourth floor crosswalk. I soon regretted that.
All the elevators where shut down. I thought I’d be smart and slip around to the freight elevator bank behind the main ones, but they were also locked down.
This meant a seven floor climb, twenty steps to a landing, turn twenty more to the next floor; repeat. Not everyone was making it. Some sat on steps catching their breaths. I am a runner, but by the time I reached the 9th floor I was wheezing.
I was stopped by one of the two men in black at the entrance to 9South,;/o checking ID’s to his clipboard list.
Vice President Gore’s mother was in for surgery. The Vice President was in her room. As I made rounds, settling nurses into their assignments, men in Black were at every entrance and at his mother’s door. The nurse I assigned to her I stressed she was to carry the chart with her-only give it to me do not discuss anything about the patient.
Mrs. Gore had to have an IM injection which is just deep muscle. The nurse was terrified to do it. I carried it in and explained what the medication was for and gave her the injection.
I was shocked when I walked in the room. There was a Queen Anne bed and dressing table. A walnut table in the corner with velvet covered deeply carved matching chairs. Vice President Gore and his wife sat chatting with his father. They were all very cordial. There was even an oriental rug on the floor and a chandelier hung over the table where a plain light once was. Stunning fie star hotel accommodations.
We had a GSW (gunshot wound) in the room next to her. As the night progressed a nurse came to me and told me two policemen were here to see me. My husband was a narcotic cop on the street at that time so you can imagine what was going through my mind. But they were there for the gunshot boy, seems he got shot running away from a robbery where he had shot someone to death. They handcuffed him to the bed and one cop stayed the night with him. My thought was great,l. right beside Mrs. Gore’s room. I told the Secret Service and they were not happy.
Later the Vice President walked to my desk and waited for me to finish taking report from the O.R.
“Mr. Vice President, how may I help you?”
“I understand there are three Ft. Campbell soldiers injured by a Black Hawk crash. Do you have time to take me to their rooms?”
I took him to see John and then David both who were honored to have this man take time to acknowledge them. The Vice president stopped every nurse, resident and tech. Shook their hands and told them what they were doing was appreciated. All the while we were shadowed by the Secret Service.
My opinion of the man changed that night. He was caring, charming and personable; not stiff and uncomfortable like he appeared on television. Later, the staff talked about how if he was like that on television he’d be better received.
He asked about the third soldier. “That is Jeremy, he has a traumatic brain injury and though he has brain activity he does not respond. His wife stays with him constantly."
We went to see Jeremy; V. P. Gore sat with his wife and held the boy’s hand speaking to him of how proud his country was of him and that he would see he got the best care available.
One of the men in black stuck his head in and reminded him of the plane that waited, he hugged Jeremy’s wife and let her cry on him before he thanked me for my time and joked he was sure everyone would be happy to have the elevators unlocked. Then he was gone.
The next night Mrs. Gore had been discharged and her room looked as it always did.
Two days later a nurse was taken for questioning by the Secret Service. Seems she accessed Mrs. Gore’s records on the computer. She was just being nosy. No formal charges were made per Mrs. Gore's say so but the nurse lost her job for violating privacy issues.
Two days later they came for Jeremy to take him and his wife to the best Traumatic Brain Injury facility in the country-no charge. It was rumored the Vice President footed the bill for it himself.
I didn’t think anymore about that night until my sister had to have emergency surgery at a different hospital. When I visited her, she too had a room out of some five star hotel, complete with fresh cut flowers.
That’s when I realized if you are wealthy, famous or any important person or member of their immediate family you received HAUTE HEALTH CARE.
When I had back surgery later that year, that did not include me.
NOTE: The icon is the symbol used years ago for Valentino's hand sewn, made to order corsets.
My sister married a Country Music Producer, Publisher and mogul who owned Tree (sold for a several hundred million and is now SonyTree) and the Stockyard Restaurant in Nashville. My sister likes to go to Paris twice a year and Rome and takes her hard working sister--me, with her where I was introduced to Haute Cuisine. There I discovered my palate was not very discriminating; give me Southern cooking any day. Haute Cuisine is magazine cover pretty but has no substance and I thought little taste being the barbarian I am. Again--boring.
I’ve been to the little French town, Lus La Croix Haute . . . charming but again-boring.
So let’s go look for Haute at the hospital. You say there's nothing high class about being in a hospital? Let's see.
Wednesday night I was working in the surgical post-op/trauma-9South--before trauma split into its own floor, 11North.
A man dressed in black screaming government cop, left my manager’s office, paused, looked me over and the front desk and left the floor.
The night went smoothly until about midnight when engineering came onto the floor and began emptying Room 924. Now all thirty-six of our rooms are private except the two corner ones. They have two beds but one is for a patient and the other families can use.
Once empty the Sanitation Department people came next. No one knew why, all I had was a note not to put anyone in the room. They were still working when I left for home.
Thursday night I walked across into the main entrance which is the second floor from the garage instead of using the fourth floor crosswalk. I soon regretted that.
All the elevators where shut down. I thought I’d be smart and slip around to the freight elevator bank behind the main ones, but they were also locked down.
This meant a seven floor climb, twenty steps to a landing, turn twenty more to the next floor; repeat. Not everyone was making it. Some sat on steps catching their breaths. I am a runner, but by the time I reached the 9th floor I was wheezing.
I was stopped by one of the two men in black at the entrance to 9South,;/o checking ID’s to his clipboard list.
Vice President Gore’s mother was in for surgery. The Vice President was in her room. As I made rounds, settling nurses into their assignments, men in Black were at every entrance and at his mother’s door. The nurse I assigned to her I stressed she was to carry the chart with her-only give it to me do not discuss anything about the patient.
Mrs. Gore had to have an IM injection which is just deep muscle. The nurse was terrified to do it. I carried it in and explained what the medication was for and gave her the injection.
I was shocked when I walked in the room. There was a Queen Anne bed and dressing table. A walnut table in the corner with velvet covered deeply carved matching chairs. Vice President Gore and his wife sat chatting with his father. They were all very cordial. There was even an oriental rug on the floor and a chandelier hung over the table where a plain light once was. Stunning fie star hotel accommodations.
We had a GSW (gunshot wound) in the room next to her. As the night progressed a nurse came to me and told me two policemen were here to see me. My husband was a narcotic cop on the street at that time so you can imagine what was going through my mind. But they were there for the gunshot boy, seems he got shot running away from a robbery where he had shot someone to death. They handcuffed him to the bed and one cop stayed the night with him. My thought was great,l. right beside Mrs. Gore’s room. I told the Secret Service and they were not happy.
Later the Vice President walked to my desk and waited for me to finish taking report from the O.R.
“Mr. Vice President, how may I help you?”
“I understand there are three Ft. Campbell soldiers injured by a Black Hawk crash. Do you have time to take me to their rooms?”
I took him to see John and then David both who were honored to have this man take time to acknowledge them. The Vice president stopped every nurse, resident and tech. Shook their hands and told them what they were doing was appreciated. All the while we were shadowed by the Secret Service.
My opinion of the man changed that night. He was caring, charming and personable; not stiff and uncomfortable like he appeared on television. Later, the staff talked about how if he was like that on television he’d be better received.
He asked about the third soldier. “That is Jeremy, he has a traumatic brain injury and though he has brain activity he does not respond. His wife stays with him constantly."
We went to see Jeremy; V. P. Gore sat with his wife and held the boy’s hand speaking to him of how proud his country was of him and that he would see he got the best care available.
One of the men in black stuck his head in and reminded him of the plane that waited, he hugged Jeremy’s wife and let her cry on him before he thanked me for my time and joked he was sure everyone would be happy to have the elevators unlocked. Then he was gone.
The next night Mrs. Gore had been discharged and her room looked as it always did.
Two days later a nurse was taken for questioning by the Secret Service. Seems she accessed Mrs. Gore’s records on the computer. She was just being nosy. No formal charges were made per Mrs. Gore's say so but the nurse lost her job for violating privacy issues.
Two days later they came for Jeremy to take him and his wife to the best Traumatic Brain Injury facility in the country-no charge. It was rumored the Vice President footed the bill for it himself.
I didn’t think anymore about that night until my sister had to have emergency surgery at a different hospital. When I visited her, she too had a room out of some five star hotel, complete with fresh cut flowers.
That’s when I realized if you are wealthy, famous or any important person or member of their immediate family you received HAUTE HEALTH CARE.
When I had back surgery later that year, that did not include me.
NOTE: The icon is the symbol used years ago for Valentino's hand sewn, made to order corsets.
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Date: 2011-02-02 12:45 am (UTC)