Right out of the movies
By PAT WICK
© Another Day in the Country
During the holidays, we've been watching a bunch of movies to amuse ourselves. It's one of the things you do in a small town when there isn't much going on in the entertainment field.
Recently, it seems that life has been imitating Hollywood dramatics. If you've read my sister's column with news from Ramona, you already know that we spent a lot of energy at the beginning of the New Year heading for the emergency room.
Although we didn't have sirens flashing on Tim's "Truck #54," we were definitely exceeding the speed limit with lights flashing as we headed to Herington.
I was a little worried that the doctor would look at me like Marlon Brando did in that scene from "The Godfather," when he says to a supplicant, "Why do you come to me now? Why didn't you come before?" Not to fear, my doctor didn't say, "I told you so," even once.
When I fainted and was overcome with nausea en route, they tell me it was like a scene from "The Exorcist" with my body in ultimate control, expelling everything it didn't want.
Prone on a gurney in the emergency room as they were trying to draw blood from my already deflated veins for about the 10th time, reminded me of a bad plot from "E.R." My whoozy head floated in scenes from "Casablanca," where Humphry Bogart says, "Here's lookin' at you kid," when the nurse had me swallow a nasty concoction in readiness for a cat scan. (If only I could manage to look as fetching as Ingrid Bergman.)
If you haven't seen the new movie, "Catch Me If You Can," you must. As the teenage character in the film, without medical knowledge, masquerades as an emergency room physician, he would hide his ignorance by asking the actually educated interns, "Doctor do you concur?" Sometimes they didn't know whether to concur or not! It's a true-life story and one of my favorite lines in the movie, but it makes you a little nervous when you're the one they are discussing.
Luckily, we were in and out of the hospital in 26 hours, and on our way home with a patched together outfit of clothes covering my body, clompy snowboots, no make up, just glad to be alive like Jimmy Stewart in "It's a Wonderful Life."
I'd been a little too close for comfort to the opening scenes of "Heaven Can Wait," and even though I didn't have any purse, driver's license, or credit card to prove my identity, I was still here in a body considered familiar territory and mighty thankful.
A couple of days later, we were visiting the offices of the Manhattan physician who did my surgery on Wednesday. I was a little nervous. All of these exams are a little formidable but this doctor was straight out of "Dr. T. and His Women," except that his waiting room was definitely quieter.
Last Wednesday I was definitely propelled to a world of my own making like "Harry Potter's" zany surroundings while the wizards in surgical scrubs worked their brand of magic on this body of mine so that I'm free to spend another day in the country.
Twenty-four hours later, I was checking out at the front desk of the hospital. "Wick, my name is Pat Wick," I intoned with a sly look, attempting to have the same self-assuredness and panache as James Bond would have with stitches in his middle. "I've definitely decided to 'Die Another Day'."
