Friday, June 17, 2011
Tonight was my first Bingo session since my surgery. I probably wasn’t ready for all that walking, prize-cart-pushing and general staying-awaking, but no one else could do it, and I kind of missed my gang.
I was a little early, and a lot of residents were waiting in the hallway before the Bingo room officially opened. I gave Ray McDade a giant hug and thanked him for staying in touch. Dorothy and Harriet, who’d had similar surgeries of their own years ago, were amazed I was up and on my feet so quickly.
Once inside, I explained to Ari the Bingo caller that I was on my own, and on unsteady footing, and he made an announcement asking everyone to please be patient with me. Which worked for about the first five minutes. Patience is not a Bingo virtue.
At one point, as three or four winners were frantically waving their Bingo cards to summon me and my coveted prize cart, Ari decided elevator music might fill the gaps and calm the savage Bingo-ers. He hummed some Muzak-worthy renditions, which made me laugh, but no one else was amused.
Bill Crowell came in, and I hugged him and told him how much I appreciated his phone call. He asked how my kittens were.
Midway through, noticing I’d been sitting between Bingos and oofing every time I got up, sweet Dorothy started helping with the Bingo confirmations.
Together, we made it through, and at the end of the night, Ari spoke into the microphone again: “Let’s all thank Sandy for coming in and helping us so soon after her surgery.” The response was like a well-trained classroom: “Thank you, Sandy,” everyone chimed.
It could have been sarcastic, now that I think about it, but it made me feel better. This place always does.
Tonight was my first Bingo session since my surgery. I probably wasn’t ready for all that walking, prize-cart-pushing and general staying-awaking, but no one else could do it, and I kind of missed my gang.
I was a little early, and a lot of residents were waiting in the hallway before the Bingo room officially opened. I gave Ray McDade a giant hug and thanked him for staying in touch. Dorothy and Harriet, who’d had similar surgeries of their own years ago, were amazed I was up and on my feet so quickly.
Once inside, I explained to Ari the Bingo caller that I was on my own, and on unsteady footing, and he made an announcement asking everyone to please be patient with me. Which worked for about the first five minutes. Patience is not a Bingo virtue.
At one point, as three or four winners were frantically waving their Bingo cards to summon me and my coveted prize cart, Ari decided elevator music might fill the gaps and calm the savage Bingo-ers. He hummed some Muzak-worthy renditions, which made me laugh, but no one else was amused.
Bill Crowell came in, and I hugged him and told him how much I appreciated his phone call. He asked how my kittens were.
Midway through, noticing I’d been sitting between Bingos and oofing every time I got up, sweet Dorothy started helping with the Bingo confirmations.
Together, we made it through, and at the end of the night, Ari spoke into the microphone again: “Let’s all thank Sandy for coming in and helping us so soon after her surgery.” The response was like a well-trained classroom: “Thank you, Sandy,” everyone chimed.
It could have been sarcastic, now that I think about it, but it made me feel better. This place always does.
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