Tim McGraw wrote:
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Healdsburg Hospital is a small hospital. It has an interesting history:
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Healdsburg Hospital has a rich history that dates back to 1908 when Dr. J. Walter Seawell opened a five room sanitarium in his home office. The hospital has undergone several changes and expansions, including a fire that severely damaged the original facility in 1929. The community quickly rallied to support the hospital’s revival, leading to the construction of a new facility at the same location. The hospital has been a vital part of Healdsburg’s healthcare system, providing essential medical services and contributing to the town’s growth and development.
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At one time, maybe in the 1960s, Healdsburg Hospital had all the specialists a patient would need. Nowadays, it’s mostly emergency care, orthopedic surgeries, and the radiology lab. I think the hospital still does maternity.
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It was a beautiful, sunny, 60F day in Healdsburg. I drove up to HH for my CAT scan. I parked in front, only 30 yards/meters from the front door. I walked up to the reception desk, and a nice woman took me into her office and checked me in. She also said I could pay for what Medicare doesn’t cover now and get a discount. So, I did that. The CAT scan cost me $380.
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The receptionist walked me to the X-Ray and CAT scan area. I had my walking stick with me. I sat in a chair. The shingles pain in my left cheek started going into high pain mode, but then faded. I’m sure I looked a mess with my walking stick, shingles on one side of my face, and the big 5×5″ bandage on the right side of my neck.
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In ten minutes, a tall Caucasian man of around 50 came out and took me to the dressing room. He told me to leave my t-shirt on but take off the two outer shirts. No hospital gown for me. Nice.
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He wore running shoes along with his hospital light blue uniform. He walked fast. I slowly followed him to the CAT scan room. I lay down on a thin bed with a headrest. He removed my glasses and put my walking stick against the wall. Next came the IV in my right arm. He pumped in the ink. I then went into the tube of the machine. “Breathe in and hold”. The machine moves me back and forth under the arch of the tube as it makes a whirring, thumping sound. “Breath normally”, the machine says.
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This is repeated twice, and then I’m out of the tube. The orderly injects me with another fluid, and into the tube I go again for the same procedure. He then injects a solution to clean out the ink. “You may feel like you have to pee, but you don’t.”
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Sure enough, I felt a strange sensation in my groin, not really like I had to urinate. “Drink lots of water today to flush all this out.”
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The orderly brings back my glasses and walking stick. I slowly sit up, stand up, and get my balance. Back to the dressing room to put my shirts, hat, and gloves on, along with my scarf. The nurse at the desk opens the door for me. I gimp out of the hospital with my walking stick into the brilliant sunshine. I sit on a bench by the front doors, absorbing the warm rays of the sun.
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It was over in less than 45 minutes from my going in the front door to getting out. That’s what a small town hospital can do.
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I was happily surprised.