Daily Archives: March 12, 2014

When Your Night Nurse is a Country and Gospel Singer

You ask him to sing for you.
Or, if you’re not-so-forward like me (or really, just out of sorts because of some medical issues), you keep your thought about his resemblance to one from a famous-to-a-certain-generation vocal quartet to yourself. And then you kick yourself later for not seizing a memorable moment by demanding that he croon you to sleep with his baritone.
And then you, later yet, write about him.
Two weeks ago I took a little personal field trip to an area hospital. I’d had a few days of intermittent chest pain so the ER was calling, and after the standard evaluations, it was determined I’d be kept overnight for observation and additional tests the next morning.
The Oak Ridge Boys kirkwestphotography.com

The Oak Ridge Boys

Once transferred to my private room, I noted the message board on the wall next to the clock, beneath the small TV. It informed me, as such hospital boards do: “Your RN is Kevin” and “Your CNA is [name I can’t remember, because she wasn’t as memorable, apparently, as some singer’s doppelganger].”

I thought, Kevin? Seriously, a man? And as I lay there frumpy-times-a-thousand, I hoped and hoped it wouldn’t be some young, hot dude. Because the last thing I wanted was an intimidating man hunk administering my meds and regularly checking all the wires glued to my braless and saggy, you know, heart area.

But my nerves didn’t have long to build before he roamed into my room, looking well-coiffed and a touch out of place.
“OMG! It’s an Oak Ridge Boy!” I said in my head.
Kevin was in his fifties, and wore white (possibly linen) pants and a short-sleeved button-up baby blue shirt. (Why he wasn’t in scrubs like the women, I’ll never know, but I’d guess he has a certain celeb-like appearance to uphold.) Jet-black was his hair, as was his full beard. His Oak Ridge Boy-kind-of-beard.
His bedside manner was not unkind. But it was detached. Almost as if he wasn’t too comfortable with his role. Like he’d have preferred a stage before thousands, not this room with a lone woman in a hospital gown. He prefaced each step he took with a timid narration. “I think I’ll listen to your heart now,” and “I guess I could get your IV fluids going.” I wanted to shout, “Sing it out, Kevin! And hook me up! You can do it!”
We didn’t have a lot of interaction, Kevin and me, as I slept as much as I could through the night, but each time he entered—and announced his intention—I thought, There he is, my very own chart-topper.
If only I’d asked him to sing for me.
** My health is fine, my heart is healthy. Turns out I had a virus which led to pleurisy, an inflammation of the lining of the lung, the pain from which can mimic a heart attack. I’m back to 100% now.
%d bloggers like this: