The Happiest Hospital on Earth

Yesterday, I took the day off to pick my mother up at Sibley Hospital where she was having a test done (she thinks she may have an ulcer, and yes, while that would suck, it’s treatable and she would probably feel a great sense of vindication since she has been convinced for years that she has an ulcer). I wasn’t sure exactly what kind of test she was having done (I’m pretty sure she never told me specifically, or it’s maybe just possible I wasn’t listening too hard—in my defense, she has about three medical tests a month, so I sometimes lose track), but she told me to meet her at the Radiology division at Sibley at around 11:30 a.m.

I’ve spent a fair amount of time around hospitals in the last few years, mostly related to unfortunate events:
*An ER visit to GW after the Corona bottle incident
*An ER visit to Sibley when Lord Kissington thought he was a having a heart attack (he wasn’t)
*An ER visit to Howard with a friend (truly terrifying)
*Visiting my grandfather in the scary hospital in NYC where he died
*Taking my grandmother to get tests done at Sibley
*Visiting June and the Bean shortly after she gave birth at Sibley (the only good event in the bunch)

Having been to Sibley several times now, I can say that it’s the happiest hospital ever. At other hospitals I’ve had the pleasure of patronizing, the staff ranged from indifferent to downright mean (and you can’t really blame them—working in a hospital must be rough). But at Sibley, everyone is happy and smiley and helpful.

I arrived at 11:20 and asked the friendly elderly volunteer at the front desk how to get to Radiology. I found it with no trouble and asked the woman at the desk about my mother. She very politely told me that my mother wasn’t scheduled for a test today, which was odd since I had spoken to her just an hour and a half earlier as she was heading out the door to the hospital. After much polite back and forth, the woman finally tracked her name down and told me she was in Endoscopy.

I headed back up to the main desk and asked the same nice gentleman to direct me to Endoscopy since I didn’t see any signs for it. He told to me walk about 20 paces down the hall and turn right. At least, that’s what I thought he said. He may have said left—I have this little problem with left and right. And perhaps 20 paces for a fast walking, long-striding person like myself is a little different than for a 75-year-old man. In any case, I ended up on the other side of the hospital and saw no sign of Endoscopy. I stopped someone with a badge and they politely told me that Endoscopy was on the second floor. I headed up to the second floor where once again, no Endoscopy, so I walked into surgery and the very helpful receptionist redirected back to where I had come from. I finally did find Endoscopy, where yet another cheerful elderly volunteer told me that my mother was still in for testing. Within an hour, we were out of there and my mother told me that she doesn’t have cancer, which came as a huge surprise to me since she had never mentioned that they were looking for cancer.

“Oh, didn’t I mention that?” she said.
“No, mom, you didn’t even tell me the right department. You said radiology.”
“Oh, well, they all look the same to me.”