Friday, May 4, 2012

22- VIP Guest

When I open my eyes the middle-aged Asian woman already has the syringe in my arm.  
"Oh, you're awake.  You slept through the last time I got your blood sample."  This is all she does, so she is the first one I've come to recognize immediately.  She knocks on the door every four hours, and approaches with her little ice cream cooler that carries the samples.  "That's it.  See you this afternoon."

I remembered someone.  This is good news.  With most of the staff, I have to try to discern who they are.  Shaking their hand and looking in their eyes like I want some telekinetic answers.  The messages never come.  I just have to feel them out and lie, trailing off when I say "Oh.  I remember you. Yeah, you're the..."

Speaking of this, a line of white coats  are lining up end to end at the foot of my bed.  They've been doing this a lot.  The one in charge asks me if his colleagues can ask some questions.
First we have introductions.  

Handshake, eye contact, "Hi. Donnie." 
Handshake, eye contact, "Hi. Donnie."
Handshake...nine times this happens.

The interrogation includes, do you know where you are, do know why we're here, are you going to drink again?  Same thing again, bu this time it took a panel.  
"Alright, we'll let you get some rest.  We have another patient."  
They are like the boys in the movie Stand By Me.  "Hey, you wanna see a dead body?"

I lie back with a smirk because we don't get rest in the hospital.   They always say it, but there are a lot of them saying it.  All day and all night.

And the brown-shirted husky man is back.
"Hey bubba.  I just come to check that bracelet you got there."
Oh yeah, the ankle bracelet.  The anklet that looks like it matches the man's safari shirt.
He lifts my ankle, and takes a look at it.  He reaches his right arm back on his tool belt, and grabs some wire cutters.  With fingers stretching the bracelet higher, he snips the bracelet off.
I thought he could have just used scissors.

"Alright, bubba.  You good to go. You have a good one."
"Wait.  They won't need that?", I ask.
He looks back over his shoulder wearing a grin.
"No sir.  They're not afraid you're gonna run off anymore."

What the hell?  I was considered a flight risk?  Where was I going to go?  Was I going to tie some sheets together and repel down the side of the building?

OK.  That makes sense.  That was all a sham this morning, and I was just acting like I couldn't walk.  I'm just gonna go for a couple of hours and come back.
Just a couple of vodka crans.

My three friendly nurses are here again.  Nice!
All of them singing  in unison,  "Hi, Mr. Donnie."
 "Hey.  They thought I was going to try to run away?"
"They sure did."
"Humph.  How was I gonna do that?"
"I don't know baby.  That's just how they do."

I would die before I even made it to any vodka.
Plus, I don't think I could even smell it right now. 
I am prime evidence of a severe case of alcoholism,
but I still don't want it.

"Mr. Donnie, you ready for your bath now?"
 As much as I want to get cleaned up, getting washed is literally a pain.  As someone is pushing one side of my back, I'm holding on the bed rail trying to keep my back up so they can scrub.  All of the fluid shifts in my abdomen, and my organs have to make way.
Its not pleasant and they do the same to the other side.
They usually take me out of my bed while I'm wet so they can change the sheets after that.

"Did they wash your hair yesterday, Mr. Donnie?"
I say "no" because it hasn't been washed since I got here.
"I haven't even had a shower yet."
She's excited to hear this.
"So this is a good day then.  You're gonna get a shower."

Awesome, I can't wait to get in there, sit on my ass, and let hot water pour all over me.
I wonder if she has to come in there with me.

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