Modesty at the hospital
Modesty? Not only is it a thing of the past in movies and other forms of entertainment, but in real life a degree of modesty is difficult to maintain in the modern world.
They tell me that most women have had to dispose of any thoughts of personal privacy as they are subjected to yearly physicals and/or the production of offspring.
I had my first real taste of disposal of my lifelong devotion to anything having to do with bodily modesty in connection with a totally unexpected visit to the Intensive Care Unit (ICU) at Swedish Hospital Cherry Hill Facility in Seattle.
Why was I there? I guess I have to chalk it up to clumsiness as it involved falling down a flight of stairs and landing on my head.
After a few days of my ignoring a minor bump on the back of my noggin, I finally was transported to Swedish Edmonds Hospital where, in their normal tests, they discovered some bleeding in my brain area.
I was transferred to Swedish Cherry Hill because they have a top-flight neurological surgical unit there. Though the bleeding stopped after the first day, while incarcerated in ICU some other matters were uncovered that needed immediate and around the clock attention.
So there I was, solid in my refusal to saddle up on a bedpan but not being allowed to avail myself of the nearby restroom (six feet away). The end result of my imminent need was the dragging out of a commode, which was situated immediately adjacent to my bed.
Trying to be very delicate in my description of what followed, suffice it to say that while involved in the task at hand (or bottom) in the middle of a room with doctors and nurses coming and going, two young ladies began to bathe me.
That took care of any remaining illusions of modesty I had harbored in the past. There were other areas of concern that merited the inspection of my bodily functions and attributes by doctors and nurses at all hours of the day and night.
Modesty? Pshaw! In the grand scheme of things it counts for naught.
As a result of this lengthy stay in the hospital and recovery facility, I am told that by following certain dietary procedures, I'll likely be around to finish out another decade (or possibly more) of the enjoyment of writing a column for the Edmonds Beacon.
I will, however, vow to install a chastity belt on my underwear in case of any future such encounters.