Friday, June 8, 2012

37- Excess Plumbing

Autumn 2011

Its the middle of the night the next time I am awakened.  To my relief, the girl ripping the Velcro on my blood pressure cuff is my favorite nurse.  The one that loaned me the Thompson book.  The brunette shorty who is nice to me, and smiles when she speaks.  My friend, who I have grown a bit of a crush on, that probably just feels sorry for me.  She is young, and her career choice has not made her bitter, yet.  She usually visits me at night, and I think of The Florence Nightingale Effect.  I wonder if there is a Betty Ford Effect.

While she is away, collecting medicines and checking on other patients, I begin to feel restless again.  The blankets feel heavy, and I can't move around much.  I squirm uncomfortably, but I keep snagging the blankets on the bothersome catheter.  I've had enough of it, and I don't need it.  They have still been using the 'condom catheter' on me, so its not like I'm pulling one out.  Not this time.

I maneuver my arms underneath the blankets, and feel around.  I have to follow the tube to find the contact point, and all I can feel is the latex.  It looks like this area is still of no concern to my body because there hasn't been the slightest return towards normal.  I am still an 8 year old boy in this department.

I'm going to have to pull this sucker off like a Band-Aid.  I pick at it for way, too long, and I finally get a small pinch of the latex.  I lose my grip immediately, as I am getting no assistance from my obnoxious, urine main. 

I don't have fingernails, since these days they simply are not growing.  However, I am not giving up, and dig at it fervently.  The adhesive is powerful, and when I pull, I am merely stretching flesh.  I have no choice, and I tug on the rubber until it feels like I'm about to be uprooted.  


The pain surges through me, and my eyes water a bit.  I fall back with my hands by my sides.  I have the prophylactic of pain in my right hand, and the hosepipe in my left.  I am still catching my breath when Florence Ford returns.

I push on the bed to straighten out my slouch, and I come up with "Hi, again".
"Hey.  I brought your med...are you breathing OK", she inquires?
I draw the pipeline out, hand over hand.  "I'm good", I tell her.  
"Oh, no.  What did you do?"
 "What I've been wanting to do for awhile", I reply.
It will be interesting to see how the daytime crew reacts.

As I am choking down the last of my pills, the nurse's phone rings.  One of her co-workers needs her help.  "I have to go help someone.  You'll be OK here for a little while, won't you", she asks?
I look like a sick hitchhiker when I tell her, "I'm good."

While she is away, I catch myself staring into empty space, again.  I have been pondering of how much medicine must be in my veins.
"Uh, oh", I say out loud to myself.

My bladder is telling me something.

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