Hospitals, I don’t like them.
This isn’t quite a vacation. All I can think about is going home. I loathe this catheter most of all. Feelings of loneliness come and go while I lay in my hospital bed. I’ve been staring at the ugliest picture ever framed. Seriously, if there was a list of ugliest pictures framed since 1901, this would be number 1 or 2.
I listened to an elderly lady, in a bed beside me while I was still in the ER, wishing out loud that she would die because her pain is no longer bearable. I’ve always been highly adept at putting myself in the shoes of others, but I can hardly imagine her mindset.
My pain was so severe that they gave me a miracle drug. I suggested they rub WD-40 on my tummy, but they wouldn’t let me have my way. They shot me up with a pain killer, I think it was called Dodiderol, but I keep refering to it as Duder-ol, because even near death, I have to make a reference to Big Lebowski. Whatever this wonder drug is, I’m sure it’s made from the tears of 80 virgin girls, probably from Minnesota.
