In a good mood, I gave Nurse Mary the thumbs up. She got a mean look on her face and gave me the finger. Dewayne in the chair next to me saw this and told me she was signaling that I was number one. This is the third finger she has given me. She once told me she was on her third divorce. That all men are assholes.
I’m still going to keep a positive outlook on this. I think she may want me. I lost over two pounds last month and this is going to spur me on to perfect my body. When she finally succumbs to my charms, she will be impressed.
She put a latex glove on my hand. Her name is Suebee. She is from Nepal. When she pulls the one inch needle from my bicep she covers the hole with gauze. She tapes it, then I put my finger on it so it can clot. She walks away.
The blood streams out from under my finger. Suebee I’m bleeding, I yell. By the time she comes back a puddle is forming under my arm. More gauze, more pressing. She smells like Lilies of the Valley. When I stand up I tell her, if it looks like I’m going to fall please wrap your arms around me tightly. She says, shut up Stephen.
“Do you feel OK?” The nurse was staring at me. I had barely finished my stress test. I stumbled off the treadmill. I was apparently white as a ghost. I had a pain in my chest. I started burping. The nurse went for the doctor. She had seen something in the data she was watching. The doctor came in the room. “Are you experiencing any chest pain?” she asked. I wanted to lie. I told them I had indigestion and burped. The doctor looked at the data. Her expression was one of concern. Another heart catheterization is ordered. Another set back on the road to recovery. I must be the warrior again. One day at a time.
She was getting ready to stick big needles in my arm. She asked me if I had smoked pot before I came in. She said, “Your eyes are bloodshot, you smell like pot, and you haven’t stopped talking since you sat down.” I asked if she also worked for the FBI or the city police. I told her nicely that what I do in the privacy of my own home is confidential. She stuck the needles in, and I think it may have hurt more than it normally does.
I think more clearly when I am stoned. The trouble is, a good buzz lasts me, at the most, a half hour. Then I revert back to my quiet, slow thinking self.
Excruciating pain in my buttocks for three days. The large Jamaican nurse says she is going to mix a pint of molasses and a pint of warm milk. Insert a plastic tube into my tush and fill it with this mixture. Life is really getting tough. Why did that little tube feel so big? Why did she leave the room? I had been in serious pain for eight hours, so she could’ve said she was going to stick a vacuum cleaner in my butt and I would have agreed. Shortly after she left, I was ready to explode all over that hospital bed. I hit the call button 25 times then screamed, “Nurse, help!”
It took all the strength in my butt cheeks to hold back the explosion. She popped back in the room. Took a long time to put gloves on. Pulled the tube out. I ran down the hallway half-naked and barefoot. It was one of the top five bowel movements of my life time. The noise alone was scary. The pain was finally gone. I thanked my nurse as if she had saved my life. I am going to now eat more fruits and vegetables.
In the last six months I have suffered some serious health issues and my life has changed dramatically. Now my favorite cocktail is a vodka and Miralax. Two of these concoctions and I’m right where I want to be–in the bathroom.
My diet has changed too. I am now low carb, low protein, and low flavor. For dinner last night I had roast celery. I splurged for dessert and had a teaspoon of probiotic yogurt with a hint of agave necter on top.
Dr. B. M. Smoothy turned my life around when I was backed up for ten days. The end result was explosive. It let me know that when life gets stinky, you need a good doctor. God bless this doctor, his nurses and a receptionist.