The bright light from the hall hovers over my room like a prison break keeping me from seeing much else but the figure who now stands at the foot of my bed. The light from the old black Bakelite wall clock over powers the shroud of reflections and I can see it is now 11pm. My eyelids squint to see a young woman dressed in a blue tie dyed t-shirt and a faded pair of blue jeans. A scene that brings back memories of the 1960’s and the Beach Boys song Surfer Girl. “I’m your night nurse Charlene,” speaks the figure.
“Hi,” I say as I scanned her body, which I could see better as she moved closer to my bed.
“How are you doing this evening?”
I had learned from being in the hospital for as long as I had been that you don’t have to be bashful when explaining your condition. “I’m constipated I said as I passed some more gas.
What kind of hospital allows night nurses to wear casual clothes? The story is way too short to be anyway meaningful. Constipation is not your condition that has you in the hospital so long. It's probably a symptom.
My prison is my home. My caregivers are instructed that my bedroom is not a hospital room, although they sometimes tend to wear hospital clothes and behave like they are in a hospital. Trapped gas is a normal occurrence here and there is no hospital in sight. ;-)
Re-Release! No longer back-listed. Return to the Olde Ways. The hustle and bustle of modern day life has brought many of us to a quick fix attitude.This book is for those of you who are fed up; have looked at your life and your loved ones and realize
