renaissance poisson

I remember one late-night post-surgical incident last decade where I had crawled out of bed one night. Here I am, catheter tube inserted, two abdominal drains and bags taped to my abdomen, temporary colostomy bag hanging off my side, large gauze patch where the intestinal incision had been made, IVs in my arm attached to the tower that held the morphine and other drips, and me, grungy and unable to take a bath and bed hair from hell, just taking the IV tower for a cruise down the hall at 3 AM.

Concerned faces at the nursing station as I shuffle down the hall.

"Hey, Warren, anything you need?"

"Naah, just cruising for chicks, ya know?"

Grins all around. I loved it.

(I blame it on the morphine, but one thing I found was that if you're up and bantering with the staff, when things get rough, they know and react a lot faster, which is good.)