My beloved a minor surgical procedure involving a lump today. All appears to be well, which is of course, to quote Martha Stewart, "A Good Thing".
She opted to go to the plastic surgeon she used several years ago. Today's event took place at a day surgery center on the 10th floor of the building where said surgeon has her office. My beloved and I have weathered numerous medical adventures - I keep telling her while some folks travel to exotic places for their anniversaries, I seem tour hospital waiting rooms instead.
It was very apparent that this clinic catered to woman who were paying for elective plastic surgery out of their own pockets - or more correctly their husbands pockets. There was a view to die for - and since we were there at 6:30am I got to admire the sunrise over Houston.
The furniture was new, cushy, oversized and upholstered in masculine tweeds and heather greens. No row of hard chairs with metal arms and uncomfortable seats. Quiet and subdued atmosphere, no extended family groups complete with raucous toddlers and clamoring cell phones.
No ancient and tattered magazines - instead there were copies of ESPN Sports, Sports Illustrated, Wall Street Journal and Golf Digest. All nicely arranged in neat rows. Phones, adequate electrical plugs for laptops and fresh coffee. The other occupants were neatly attired in starched white shirts and preppie ties. Me, I wore a Harley Davidson T-shirt and was the only women not having surgery.
The staff was friendly, accommodating (they even validated parking tickets) and were not overworked, understaffed or rushed.
Money does indeed talk, especially when it comes to health care.