Apparently, The OLD MORGUE Is The Best-Kept Secret In Hillmomba

I had a regular appointment with my doctor Nurse Practitioner on Monday, to get my prescription refills and give some blood for analysis. Since we would be in Bill-Paying Town, Farmer H and I had decided to vote early and avoid the church basement steps at our regular polling place.

Although this early voting place has been operating for two or three years now, there is little information about it online. I had tried looking up the hours of operation, but couldn't find them, or the exact location on the county website. All that popped up from my estranged BFF Google was a two-year-old story from the local online newspaper. Which denies me access, because, well, you know... I don't pay for a subscription. Which I WOULD, if they'd allow me to pay by check, and not by providing a credit card to be charged every month.

Anyhoo... from voting, we headed the mile + to my appointment. I must have gotten five reminders of my appointment since Friday. I even texted back that I was confirming the appointment, but still they bombarded me with reminders. Each one said to WEAR A MASK. Huh. So we're back to that. I dug out my Kansas City Chiefs mask, my casino standby, the one I bought at the liquor store, handmade by some pothead who works there.

As I stepped through the double doors of the hospital on my way to the elevator, I put on my KC Chiefs mask. Then at the elevators, there was a little rack of masks in boxes, with a somewhat obscure sign on one saying only hospital grade masks were allowed. They were all pale yellow. I couldn't see a difference, so grabbed one from the middle box. It fit just right. I think maybe it was for a child. A child with a giant Mrs. HM head and a lovely lady-mullet. But still. It was not all bunched up to my lower eyelids, preventing me from looking down to see where I was walking.

I rode the elevator with one lady. I told her I didn't much like having to come out among sick people just to get my medicines that keep me healthy. Then I wondered if maybe she was a sickie, but she was not giving off any symptoms of illness, and didn't act offended. While sitting in the waiting area outside my NP's office, I had a small coughing fit from breathing whatever impurities are in those masks imported from China. So I pulled it down under my chin. The only people who could see me were those getting off the elevator, which was over 50 feet away. My back was to the wall of the sliding window, so they had no idea. 

When I checked in, one gal asked if I had my picture ID handy.

"Yes. I just voted, so it's in my pocket."

Another gal across the office said, "You just voted? Where can you do that?"

"Over by the old hospital. The one that closed. Where my husband used to go."

"Oh. Blankety-Blank Hospital."

"Yeah. Across the street from it, in that office area."

"Oh, you mean the OLD MORGUE."

"I guess so..."

Once inside, during my appointment, my NP asked how things had been going. Offered me several diagnostic tests, which I turned down politely, one of them having cost me $700 in the past. 

"Things have been great. I won $500 on a lottery ticket, and I'm doing pretty much nothing all day. No offense to you, but I really hate coming here! I want to be around sick people as little as possible. So this is done for another six months, and while over here, we voted, so there's another unpleasant thing I've checked off for today."

"Oh! Where did you vote?"

"Over by the old hospital that closed."

"Oh. The OLD MORGUE. Do you know how late they're open?"

"No. I tried to find out, but couldn't. We go there to avoid the steps to the church basement where we vote."

"No kidding! I have to vote in a church basement, too! I'd go to the morgue and vote if I knew it would be open when I get off."

Small world, huh? From there, he sent me up to the lab to give my blood sample. THAT is another story entirely. TWO other stories!

First one coming up tomorrow.