Do odd things happen to writers, or are writers just odd?

A question for my writer friends: Do odd things happen to you, or are you the odd thing?

The answer is important. The world is odd, filled with strange happenings that call out to be translated into poems and stories. But I may be the odd one for noticing and then spending hours/days/months on writing a story to make some sense of this odd occurrence. Maybe it doesn't have to make sense, it just has to be entertaining or thought-provoking. It may never be published, never. read by more than a few blog fans. 

To get on with the story...

I had a weird experience Tuesday at a Colorado hospital that will remain nameless. I was the subject of a Cervical CT Myelogram procedure. The docs and nurses in Radiology were supposed to start in on me at 1 p.m.. And then it was 2 and then 3. Finally, the head tech explained to me that the computer had hijacked the hospital. It mistakenly booked me in the fancy Radiology room next door and wouldn't acknowledge that I was waiting in the plain vanilla Radiology Room. I said why don't you put me in the fancy room. He said it was expensive, only used for the difficult cases. I was glad that I wasn't a difficult case. 

The IT guys stormed the premises. They were not like the "IT Crowd" technos who told frantic operators this: "Have you tried turning off  the computer ans turning it back on?" They came to rescue. The problem seemed to be a tough one. The IT guys figured out they had to discharge me from the hospital and admit me all over again, trick the computer into thinking I was a new patient suited only for the cheap room. 

They did that and thought they had it licked when the computer changed its mind and put me back in the fancy room. There must have been ten people in the room, some working frantically on the computer, others preparing the room for the medical procedure that was sure to start any time now. I talked about books with a nice nurse who was writing a children's book in her spare time. Earlier, as she checked me in, she found out I was a writer and said that she thought that I looked like the creative type. I was flattered, as people usually think I look like Colonel Sanders. 

After two hours, they tricked the computer for good and the Radiology team jumped into action. The doc pumped me full of contrast, which one of the techs described as a "sticky oil" which, when scanned, highlights the details of my cervical spine. Once they pumped me full of sticky oil, one of the techs got on with tilting me at various angles on the table while another tech shot images on the scope. They tilted me head first and then prone. They tilted me forward for a second time to make sure the contrast reached into the furthest reaches of my upper vertebrae. I didn't object. I only wanted to do this once. They took some other pictures with me on each side and one of my neck and shoulders. Satisfied, they sent me over to the CT room where another tech scanned me. 

When I got back to the recovery room, a new nurse turned on her computer and looked for my chart. "You don't exist," she said. 

Odd, but I was lying right there. A few minutes later she found me.

"Looks like the computer discharged you" 

Of course. 

The nurse got me readmitted and discharged me again, because that was part of her job. 

As my wife Chris drove me back to Cheyenne, a few things occurred to me. It wasn't a bad way to spend five hours. It was 95 hot degrees outside, cool inside. Chris had taken the day off so we spent some quality time together. The staff was kind and patient. It made me wonder if they were this nice to all patients. The nurses admitted that many who come through their doors are very sick and usually older than me. Some of the procedures involve a lot of physical pain. Pain, as always, turns your attention inward and you are not always aware of others feelings. Me, well, I was in a little bit of pain but didn't want to be a pain. So, after lying around two hours waiting for the multimillion-dollar computer system to recognize me, I decided that resistance was futile. I could have told them to forget it and make me another appointment. But I didn't want to come back another day.  

It was very entertaining. The staff gave me a handful of cafeteria food coupons to make up for the delays. I hope I'm not back at that hospital any time soon, not even for chicken-fried steak night.