Jim Siergey: Long Shot

November 11th, 2010

There are eight million hospital stories in the naked city.  This one is mine.

After weeks of a constant cough, touches of dysentery leading up to the inability to digest even water, and a week-long 103-degree fever accompanied by recurring hallucinations of Mr. Rogers building a neighborhood on my chest, I agreed it was time to visit the hospital.

As it turned out, I was suffering from viral pneumonia which was exacerbated by my state of dehydration and malnutrition.  Being in this condition, I tended to fade in and out from reality but I picked up a few facts from the doctor’s explanation.  I would have a private room, a traveling I.V., and a personal urinal.

I dismissed the references to sneakers and sweaters and speedy delivery as delusional interference.

As I was wheeled into my room, I noticed by the door, a low sink with long handles.

“That must be my personal urinal,” I thought in my fever-ravaged mind.

I was put into my bed, received an injection, an I.V. was hooked up to my arm and I immediately fell asleep.

When I awoke, my bladder felt like it was the verge of bursting.  Immediate release of bodily fluid was the foremost thought on my addled mind.  What to do?  Suddenly, I remembered the “urinal” that was across the room.  Then, I remembered my traveling I.V. Well, there you go, problem solved, Watson.

With some effort, I got out of bed and stood up. Then, to my dismay, I discovered that my so-called “traveling I.V.” was attached to the bed.  Apparently, this was as far as I could travel with it.

Meanwhile, my kidneys kicked at me like a Rand Paul supporter attacking a fallen protester. Gott in Himmel, I must reach that “urinal”!

It was a long shot….

With the strength of half a man elevated to the strength of ten buoyed by a bloated bladder, I proceeded to slowly push and pull the bed as well as the chair and nightstand that stood next to it across the floor as far as they would go.

With the furniture in the room stacked against the closeted wall like a barricade in the French Revolution, I stood on tippy toes with my arm outstretched, and my I.V. tube as taut as a clothesline.

Alas, I still found myself at least six feet shy of my destination.

Having done all I could to discreetly relieve myself, I was left with no other option.

With an aim as true as a Sherwood Forest archer, I commenced to urinate into the sink from across the room.

Just as I began, the door opened and a doctor began to walk in.  Seeing the golden stream arc by his nose, he leapt out backwards through the doorway.

Unfortunately, I have a knack for making a less than stellar first impression upon people.

In my semi-dazed state, I didn’t think much of what just occurred.  Having finished relieving myself, I returned to my bed, paying no attention to the ruined Feng Shui of the room, and fell back into the comforting arms of Morpheus.

During the rest of my stay in that hospital room, I was never bereft of attention.  There was always someone periodically checking in on me.  Eventually, they even ceased donning rain slickers before entering.

Editor’s Note: Jim‘s last post for The Third City was Neither Rain Nor Sleet

One Response to “Jim Siergey: Long Shot”

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