Do ya' think?

During recent hospital visit...

Old Asian treadmill doctor: (glancing at Navy anchor tattoo on my forearm just prior to beginning stress test) Oh...you was in Navy?

Old cardio patient, ie, me: (rolling my eyes, glancing at nurse and smirking) No. I wasn't in the Navy. However, I was one of the original founding members of the Village People. You know, the sailor guy?

Nurse: (smiles, emits a quiet chuckle, and rolls her eyes too)

Old treadmill doctor: Oh, that's nice. Step onto treadmill please, Mr. Hansen.


Another encounter during hospital visit. Approximately 3:30 am in my room...

Nurse: Are you asleep, Mr. Hansen?

Me: (waking up, realizing someone was speaking to me and that I still had that nitro headache) Huh? Oh. No, I'm not asleep. I'm dead. Please leave the flowers and go!


This exchange occurred several times over several days with everyone from the ambulance guys, to nurses, visiting docs, to the lady taking my meal order, to the little old man emptying the trash...

Ambulance attendant: Mr. Hansen, on a scale of 1 to 10, 10 being worst, what is your pain level now?

Me: (one of my answers) What would one consider bad enough for a 10? Having your fingers sawed off one by one with a rusty steak knife while being forced to watch Star Wars VII: Jar Jar Binks, the Beginnings in iMax. It fucking hurts...like, maybe, OK (not wanting to sound like a wimp)...a 7, alright? A 7!

Ambulance attendant: Relax, Mr. Hansen. We're almost there.

Me: (thinking to myself) The first ride 23 years ago, I got a shitload of morphine on the way to hospital. This time, not even a tylenol!

Disclaimer: Truthfully, all of these conversations took place, I embellished a bit on my responses.