I recently had the opportunity to compare some of the services offered by the Marquis DE Sade School of Aesthetics and our local teaching hospital. As you may recall, I had my back waxed by my daughter’s team of she-devils. Aesthetics use what I can only describe as a carpet-bombing approach to hair removal, whereas nurses tend towards laser guided accuracy under the guise of attaching heart monitoring equipment, which they then must remove for your daily shower. And, which, for some undefined medical reason, they are not allowed to reapply in the same, now hairless, spot. I think that every time I grimaced as they ripped the little pads from my chest, they mentioned that they really should shave my chest, but in the entire four days I was there, that never happened. After many showers and other tests that required removal of the pads, there was not much hair left.

I must say that the nurses have better equipment to play with. My favorite is the MRI, a gigantic metallic birth canal with an accompanying soundtrack from a World War Two submarine movie. The only thing missing was someone yelling Dive! Dive! Dive! First off, they wedge a 270lb man into something meant to be a tight squeeze for Twiggy, then to keep with the birth canal theme, they pump in the sounds of a giant metal heart KA-KLANG, KA-KLANG, KA-KLANG. This is prior to the sub sounds.

Strapped to a tray, they slid me into this monster, squished in on all sides. Thank God I am not terribly claustrophobic KA-KLANG, KA-KLANG, KA-KLANG. Then it starts NAR, NAR, NAR. You know, the sound you hear in every sub-movie as they are under attack and the captain gives the order to dive. I swear, at that moment, I heard the sonar pings. Then the machine started talking to itself KA-KLANG, KA-KLANG, KA-KLANG; NAR, NAR, NAR for what seemed like hours but was in fact only about 15 minutes, all but the constant metal heart stopped, and a voice asked how I was doing, “Fine”, I lied. “Good… only 4 more tests.”

Another machine I was introduced to was the CAT scan. I liked this mostly because it gave my children documented proof that I have a brain. My daughter’s response was “You can Photoshop anything. I want a second opinion” They only accepted that I have a brain once they were assured that it was slightly damaged. That… they could live with.

Another torture was a bit of hospital cruelty in the form of your next-day meal request. First, in that, if you got one…you knew they planned on keeping you longer. Second, in that they asked you what you wanted for each of the next day’s meals, however that in no way resembled what you actually got. Here is how the game is played put an X beside your choice; ohhh you want oatmeal and brown sugar for breakfast…here is your rice crispys. You want salmon for dinner, here is your baked spaghetti, well at least they both start with ‘s’. Anything but chocolate pudding! Here is your chocolate pudding.

And so it went, day-after-day-after-day. In conclusion I would have to call it a tie. As far as I can tell the Marquis DE Sade School of Aesthetics went out of its way to be cruel, whereas, at the teaching hospital, it was just sport to make their day go by quicker.