I lay in the bed shivering, the intern of Indian or Pakistani origin asking me questions from the foot of the bed. In his hand is a clipboard, and from his questions he is making me feel uncomfortable about what he may be thinking of me.
“You take drugs?” He asked, peering over the board, his pen poised.
“No”
“You smoke anything?”
“Just cigarettes”
“Hmmm”
Off he goes, and I brace myself for the uncertainty of the next few days. The next day TLW (The Little Woman) calls and tries to cheer me up.
“You know you will probably get an enema!”
“Nah, no I won’t, there’s nothing wrong with my stomach.”
The next night these two rather matronly and large nurses come in rolling a a hanging bag. One of them says:
“Now we gonna administer this here in the bag, when we done, you go into the toilet honey, and have yo self a blast.”
I think to myself: “Did TLW put you up to this?”
Well in due time I head off to the toilet, sit and it has a mind of its own, and it finally dawns on me what the nurse said about having a blast! I’m blasting away and laughing my fool head off! I’m having trouble staying on the bowl from laughing so hard!
Sitting in the bed feeling sorry for myself, and thinking about my two kids and TLW, a young fellow dressed in white and wheeling a tray behind him comes up to my bed.
“You Joseph?”
“No, I’m just holding the bed for him, he went out for coffee.”
He laughs and then begins to tell me that he would be visiting me everyday, three times daily, to take vials of blood.
I had met the count, he would rise from his coffin and come in the still of the night, extract his vials and get back before sunrise. I needed to sleep with my eyes open!
Tomorrow: The Pain Hurts More Than I Thought! (the kids come to visit.)
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