I have utmost respect for the medical profession.
I understand, that, like me, they are overworked and underappreciated. They get immense satisfaction from what they do (also like me), but also huge frustration from the inevitable beauracracy and hoops to jump through.
That said, I can't understand why my mom is sitting in a hospital right now, unable to find anyone to talk to her about my dad. Daddy had knee surgery this morning. They got to the hospital at 5:30 for a surgery that was scheduled for 7:30. The surgery ended up starting at 8:30, but no one told my mom this for quite some time. When I called her at 11:30, she did not know anything yet. While we were chatting, someone told her he had just gotten out, and the doctor would be out to talk to her shortly.
At 12:30, Mom called me (I had explained to my 7th and 8th graders that I would be listening for my phone to ring) to let me know that he was in the recovery room, and the doctor said everything went just fine. Relieved, I got on with my afternoon.
A little after 3:00, I called Mom again. Dad is still in the recovery room (longer than the doctor said he would be) and all Mom can get is second-hand information. The volunteers are telling her that they have a shortage of rooms. Dad told her they were transfusing him.
I now know (thanks to Dani) that this is actually normal after a knee surgery, but it did cause some worry.
Ahhh, and there's the phone. As I typed that last, my cell phone rang. It was Daddy, from his private room. He's doing well, he sounds good, and the blood transfusion is normal--what they do, I guess, is collect the blood that escapes him during the surgery, and transfuse it back into his system.
In the mean time, they didn't see Mom when taking him through the waiting room, so she doesn't know he's been moved yet. Good heavens. I suppose it will all be sorted out soon.