Marry me

Oh, that hospital.

Yesterday was SO romantic. The hospital woke me up early with a big, sloppy kiss and had me all packed off to work by 6:00 a.m. An hour later, it gave me a code--a guy with a busted heart chamber. Get it? A heart chamber? On Valentine's Day? So thematically appropriate! I did chest compressions for days after he was dead because the cardiologists wanted to practice doing pericardial windows. It's a good thing the hospital prefers its ladies musky.

I discharged two patients to nursing homes before noon (nuts to those sad, old single people, ha ha!), and after my upper level resident left for clinic, the hospital gave me two admissions. Two! One of which had a history of congestive heart failure, heart valve disease, and bypass grafts of three heart vessels.

I KNOW! That hospital is one thoughtful sonofabitch.

We were together all afternoon and on into the evening, me and the hospital. We had a hasty dinner of graham crackers and diet ginger ale, then spooned for a while in the surgical ICU, where the hospital gave me some of that shitty heart-shaped candy with the peanutless peanut butter in the middle. It was totally freaking romantic.

At about 10:30 p.m., right when I didn't think it could get any better, the hospital walked me out to my car. And then--are you sitting down? Because I didn't, all goddamn day--the hospital asked me the question I've been waiting for all my adult life: "Dr. Signout, will you marry me?"

Naturally, I burst into tears. Just imagine, me and the hospital, together forever!

I said I'd sleep on it.