Copyright © 2021 by Ralph Robert Moore.

Return to lately 2021.

Around the middle of February, in the middle of the night, snow started falling in Texas.

It's happened before, but not often.

The morning following that first storm, we woke up to half a foot of snow on the ground.

With more expected in the upcoming days.

Because it so rarely snows in Texas, the state doesn't have the equipment necessary to clear its roads.

In Fort Worth, there was a massive 135-car pile-up on the highway, six people dead.

The temperature started dropping.

And dropping.

Until it was at the lowest temperature ever recorded in Texas.

And it stayed there.

Due to an unprecedented demand for electricity, the state's power grid was soon overwhelmed. A decision was made to start 'rolling outages'. At first, that meant shutting off power to homes for fifteen minutes every few hours, to take some of the load off the grid, so it wouldn't collapse. That soon deteriorated to where power would shut off for eight or more hours, then be restored for only half an hour or so.

People's pipes burst.

Now in addition to no longer having heat, they no longer had water.

Mary and I spent most of those days and nights in bed, under about eight layers of blankets and comforters we dragged out of our walk-in closet, because it was too cold to be outside those layers. Our kitchen freezer's shelves were jammed with microwave meals we could quickly cook whenever the power did briefly come back on, so we wouldn't be hungry while we were shivering.

We'd eat the meals watching the local news, trying to find out when the outages might end, like everyone else in Texas. None of the newscasters knew.

And then everything would go dark and silent again.

Wednesday night of that long week, I was walking by the foot of our bed when I tripped and fell, landing on my right hip on the white carpet.

I've fallen before over the years (haven't we all?) but always prided myself on being able to rise unaffected.

This time, as I landed on my side, I felt the yellow of lightening crack upwards through my hip.

With an intensity I had never felt before.

I got to my feet awkwardly, hobbling with a rightwards list to my side of the bed.

Figured, like every other time, the pain would reside.

But this time, it didn't.

About an hour later, I did what everyone hates to do, especially in the middle of the night. And especially when it's not on behalf of someone else, but instead for themselves.

I called 911.

The Emergency Medical Technicians, two males, arrived in under ten minutes.

Mary led them under our downstairs ceilings to me in our back bedroom, me already apologizing for calling them here. "I'm sure it's nothing."

I was able with their help to get out of bed, stand by the mattress' side.

They asked me some questions, gently felt my hip and outer thigh. Asked if I could raise my right foot off the carpet.

"The ideal thing would be to take you to the emergency room and take some x-rays, we really can't say anything definitively without that information-"

"--I agree, but I'm my wife's caregiver, so I really, really don't want to go to the ER unless I absolutely have to."

"Understood." He looked again at how I was standing by the bed. Shrugged. "I don't think anything's broken, because you're able to move your leg quite a bit. If something were broken, you wouldn't be able to do that."

Exactly what I wanted to hear. "I really appreciate you guys coming out. Sorry it was a false alarm."

"No need to apologize, sir. And you can always call us back if it gets worse."

Mary and I went to bed.

A couple of times I woke up. Power still out. Found if I stretched my right leg out straight, bare sole of my foot plowing downwards under all those layers of bed coverings, the pain was less.

Encouraging.

Woke up about six, in horrible pain.

Couldn't move my right leg.

And it was now swollen.

Like I said, I'm Mary's caregiver. She had a severe stroke in 2002, and as a result of that, the damage it did to her language center in her brain, it's very difficult for her to understand what someone is saying to her, or to express herself.

I realized I did need to go to the ER, but knew I couldn't leave her by herself.

The only people we know locally are our next-door neighbors, Jim and Peggy. They're wonderful people. We've helped each other out over the thirty years we've lived side by side.

I wasn't going to call them at six in the morning, so I stayed in bed until eight, then tapped in their home number.

That three-note high-pitched rejection. "The number you have called is no longer in service, or is temporarily unavailable."

Of course.

Fuck.

Going through our small book of phone numbers of friends and acquaintances, with a cute picture of a panda eating bamboo on the cover, most of the numbers by now obsolete, or the individuals themselves deceased, I realized we had Peggy's cell phone number which she had given Mary and me about a decade ago.

Tapped it in.

Rang. Rang. Rang. About to hang up, the call connected. Peggy's quizzical voice. "Hello?"

"Peggy, hi. Sorry to call so early. This is Rob, your next-door neighbor?"

"Hi, Rob."

"I fell, and I think I may have broken my hip. I'm going to call 911, but while I'm gone, could you check in on Mary from time to time, please?"

The EMT's came back. The same two guys from the previous night. Lying in bed on my back, looking up at them, trying to keep up my spirits.

"It's gotten worse?" Pulled the white sheet down to look at my leg. "Oh, yeah."

Now I have to tell you something embarrassing.

After the EMT's left the night before, I realized it might be difficult for me to make it from our bed to the bathroom in the middle of the night. Like many of you, I'm not a big fan of lying in my own piss/shit for hours.

So after the EMT's went out the front door, Mary helped me take off my pajama bottoms. We had a plastic bag of adult diapers left over from when Mary came home from the hospital following her heart valve replacement surgery a year earlier, so I had Mary pull one of the white adult diapers up my legs, snug against my crotch.

So no matter what happened during the night, at least I wouldn't soil our bed.

She put a white replacement diaper on my bedside table, in case I needed to change diapers during the night.

When the EMT pulled down the white sheet to look at my leg, I had on five pajama tops, solids, stripes, plaids; bare legs; and this big white diaper.

To his credit, he hid any surprise he might have felt.

I thought about saying, This is the first time I've ever worn an adult diaper in my life, I don't have an incontinence problem, but of course, you don't.

The EMTs asked me to stand, but this time I found I couldn't.

"We're going to assist you sir, is that okay?"

"Sure."

One set of hands under my shoulders, another around my ankles, they tried swinging me to a sitting position on the edge of the bed, and as they did so I felt the worst pain I have ever felt in my life.

Like the long muscles in my right thigh were twisting around and around my thigh bone.

We've all felt pain over the years, but this pain had a bigness to it that was absolutely overwhelming.

Like the pain was an adult, and I was a little kid.

The EMTs gave up, lowering me back down to the mattress. Looked at each other.

There was a knock at the front door.

I smiled at Mary, her worried face. "That's Peggy, our next-door neighbor. Could you let her in, please?"

Peggy came into the bedroom, she and Mary hugging. I thought of telling her, This is the first time I've ever worn adult diapers in my life, I swear to God. But, you know. "I think this is the key that opens our front door, but could you please put the key in the door to make sure it is the right key? If it is, then you can hold on to it to let yourself in until I come back home, to make sure Mary's okay."

"Okay, Rob." She left the bedroom.

The EMT who was apparently the lead caught my eye. It was one of those situations in life where you need eye contact. "What we can do is bring our stretcher into the bedroom, line it up alongside the edge of the bed, then lift you from the bed and put you down on the stretcher. I realize you're in a lot of pain when we move you, but it's the only way we can get you to the ambulance."

"I understand. Just do what you have to."

Both men left to retrieve the stretcher.

Peggy came back. "It is the right key. We don't have a spare bedroom in our home, but what I can do is take Mary over to our house during the day, then at night I'll take her back here, she can sleep in her bed, and me or Cheryl [her daughter] can sleep on the sofa in the living room, in case Mary needs anything."

"Bless you."

The two EMTs came back. The lead, again. "We can't get the stretcher into the bedroom."

Our master bedroom is off the kitchen. Convenient for us, since we eat all our meals in bed, and have since we first met, over 40 years ago.

But.

There's an L-shaped hallway that connects the bedroom to the kitchen.

And unfortunately, since it's rather narrow, and the L-shaped bend in the hallway is so tight, there was no way they could maneuver the length of the stretcher through the hallway to my bed.

"We do have a shorter stretcher we could use, and it would get past the twists and turns in the hallway, but it has a hard plastic surface. You're probably going to be lying on the stretcher for at least a few hours once we get to the ER, and to be honest, that hard plastic surface would probably get really painfully uncomfortable over that time."

I nodded. I mean the fuck else can you do at that point except nod? "What are you thinking?"

"We can set up the longer, more comfortable stretcher out in the living room, then the two of us can hand carry you from your bed out to that stretcher. I mean, it's going to hurt, a lot, but at least then you're on the better stretcher."

So, one of those situations where you don't really want to think things through. Just like I don't want to think through what it's going to be like to be away from Mary for at least several days and nights, be in a large hospital where I'm surrounded by strangers, and have to go through all kinds of painful procedures and surgeries. One of those situations where the best thing to do is just act polite. "Let's do that. It makes the most sense. Please ignore anything I say while you're transporting me."

"You bet."

One set of hands under my shoulders again, another around my ankles.

They hoisted me up in the air off the mattress.

Ignored my screams.

Started a slow shuffle backwards out of the bedroom.

"FUCK!"

Down the short hallway to the kitchen.

"FUCK! FUCK!"

Across the breakfast nook to the living room.

I'm screaming like I never have before.

Position me above the longer, more comfortable stretcher. Lower me to its surface.

"FUCK! FUCK!"

"Okay! You're on the stretcher. We don't have to move you again for a while."

You meet a lot of different friends in life. A pet, a cigarette, a perfect vinaigrette with just the right hint of garlic, and 'fuck'. 'Fuck' is your foxhole friend, and he's been extremely helpful. He's gotten me through a lot of small and huge situations over the years.

I realized Peggy was sitting at the breakfast nook table. "Peggy, I apologize for my language. It's just that-"

Waved her hand in front of her face.

"I really appreciate you helping us out." Called Mary over. Held her hand, kissed her, reassured her. "I love you."

"I love you! Are you going to be okay?"

"Absolutely! I'll be gone a few days, but then I'll be back home, and everything will go back to normal."

"I love you!"

Teary.

"I love you." Squeezed her hand.

One EMT at the foot of the stretcher, one behind me at the head, I was rolled across our living room carpet, out the front door, into the cold morning air, across our green lawn, down the slant of our concrete driveway, past the curb, to the large double doors, red and white, at the rear of the thrumming ambulance parked outside our home.

Staring straight up at the brightening sky, I'm trying to stay calm.

Trying to not think about what the next several days and nights are going to be like.

When you're on a stretcher inside an ambulance, there are no windows to look out, so the only sensation you get of travelling down a road is the bumps and jostles that shake you as the ambulance speeds up and down roads, around curves.

Our home is around twenty minutes from the hospital, but it took at least forty-five minutes to get there. They must have used back roads all the way. I have no idea why.

Once the ambulance finally came to a stop, motor still running, nothing happened for a long time, and then both rear doors were noisily pulled open.

The feet end of my stretcher was rolled off the edge of the ambulance's opened doors, the stretcher's rear legs snapped down, then the rest of the stretcher noisily rolled all the way out into the cold air, an EMT at the head of the stretcher snapping down that set of legs.

I was rolled backwards across the wide sidewalk into the emergency room's lobby. I immediately recognized it from Mary's two visits within the last year. The fact I recognized it was reassuring. One of the EMTs said, "Want to grab a mask for him?"

The second EMT walked over to my head, helped me fit a white mask over my nose and mouth.

Me and the two EMTs rolled across the lobby to the check-in window, where I was parked against a wall to one side of the window.

Now I had to wait for someone to attend to me, and I had no idea how long the wait would take.

Something I didn't know, but found out now, is that the EMTs don't leave you once they deliver you to the ER. They stay with you until you're checked into a room, which in my case took hours. From listening to different EMTs and ER staff talking to each other during my long wait on the stretcher, and I was grateful by now I had opted for the comfortable stretcher, this practice is referred to as 'babysitting'.

After over an hour I was rolled from the wall to one side of the check-in window to a wall in one of the interior hallways of the ER.

I lay there another hour until I noticed a sheet of paper thumbtacked to the wall by my stretcher. The paper read, 'Hallway waiting room D'.

Okay.

After about another two hours, the lead EMT came over to me. "Doing okay?"

"Yeah."

I didn't ask how long the wait was going to be, because what was the point? He didn't know. Maybe no one knew.

During this long time, I heard people moaning all around me, from different stretchers and from some of the bona fide ER waiting rooms.

A few people were screaming, over and over.

Cops, backs of their big black jackets stenciled with tall yellow DPD initials, were everywhere in the hallways, usually in groups, basically keeping everyone in line.

I heard an old man plead from one of the rooms. "Can someone please help me? Can anyone help me?"

He was ignored.

"Please? Please help me? Anyone?"

I have a lot of wonderful memories from my life. I tried to focus on them.

"Please? Can someone please help me? Anyone? Can you please?"

Finally, a couple of cops crowded into his room. I thought it was about time, past time, but then eavesdropping, I realized the old guy just wanted someone to adjust the tilt of his hospital bed, so he was sitting up more.

What the fuck?

Hours after I had been wheeled into the ER, a man finally came over to my stretcher. Talked to the head EMT. Asked me how I was feeling.

"Okay. But it really, really hurts whenever my right leg is moved."

He looked at the EMT. "He'll need to go to imaging."

Since the EMT had reappeared, I thanked him for waiting with me.

"No problem."

After another hour, I was rolled down the hallway past other stretchers and pushed rightwards through a door into a room with x-ray equipment.

Two young women in charge.

They were joking around with each other.

"Let's do the rear view first, then the side view, then the front. We need you to get on your stomach, sir."

I tried rolling from my back onto my side, eyes squeezing shut, my old friend "FUCK!" returning, one of the women shaking her head. Grabbing my head, she forcibly rolled me over onto my stomach. "Hold your position right there. Don't move."

"FUCK! FUCK!"

"Get on your left side."

"I-FUCK! FUCK!"

"We have to do that one again. Move more on your left side, then stay motionless. Let me help you."

"FUCK!"

"Okay. Good. Now roll on your back again." Giggling at the other woman.

"No, you have to be flat on your back."

"FUCK! FUCK!"

I was wheeled out. Back to 'Hallway waiting room D'.

Another hour passed.

A different woman stopped by my stretcher in the hallway. She had a clipboard. "The imagery shows your right hip is broken. We're going to get you into a private room, which will probably take a while, but before we do that I need to insert a catheter into you to control your urination." Nodded, smiled at me.

Left.

More time passed. Because I was in an interior hallway with no windows I had no idea what time of day it was, but after so many long, long hours of waiting on my back, I figured that it must by now at least be early evening.

Later on, that same woman returned, grabbed one end of my stretcher, and wheeled me down a couple of hallways to a left turn into a doorway.

Inside, in the front room, four male nurses shooting the breeze.

She said hi to them, made some small talk, pushed my stretcher into the rear room.

Started taking some stuff out of drawers, placing them on the whiteness of my stretcher beside my stomach, where there was some free space. "Have you ever had a catheter inserted before?"

I'm thinking, people are going to be moving my right leg over and over again, lifting me from one surface to another, and each time it's going to hurt me worse than I've ever hurt before in all my otherwise happy decades. "I haven't."

Smiled. "Most people find it kind of uncomfortable." Setting up her equipment. Pulled down my adult diaper, all the way off my feet, exposing my cock.

"Okay."

"Are you ready?"

"Sure."

With her left latex-wearing hand, reached down, encircled my cock, pointed it so it was staring straight up. "Ready?"

"Sure."

Pushed a narrow tube into the urethra at the head of my cock. As I looked away, I felt that tube push down through my urethra, inside my cock.

It hurt. But it was bearable.

Silence. Just the sensation of something hard being forced down inside my cock, a sensation I had never felt before.

"Shoot."

Pulled the catheter's long tube out.

Which also hurt.

"Let me try that again."

Slightly painful push back down into my cock.

It'd be nice if they had a TV or something in the room so at least I could watch the news or a game show while this is happening, to try to distract myself, but of course they didn't.

Pulled the long hard tube out again.

Another unsuccessful attempt.

"The problem I'm having is trying to get the lower tip of the urethra past your prostate, which is enlarged."

"Okay."

"Let me try this approach."

Shaking her head, pulling it back up and out. Half-turned towards the front room. "Is Sheila around?"

From the front room a male's voice. "Yeah! I saw her out in the hall like five minutes ago."

"Can you get her please? I'm having trouble with the insertion."

While we waited for Sheila, she made a few more failed attempts. "Nope. I just can't past your prostate."

A few minutes later Sheila arrived, not acknowledging me, looking at my cock. "What type of catheter are you using?"

And I don't now remember the names they discussed.

"Go with a [blank]."

"That's what I was thinking."

Sheila left.

My nurse pushed a different catheter down inside my cock. I could tell she was really hoping it would work this time, because I'm sure she had other things to do.

Silence as she forced it down inside me.

Rotated the long skinny tube slightly, pressed down some more. "Okay. I have it nine inches inside. Now I'm going to insert it one inch more, to get it into your bladder."

"Okay."

Lifted her gloved hands off my cock.

My relief. Hers.

"Is it done? Is it in place?"

"Yeah. Let me wheel you back out into the hallway."

I'm back in the hallway, still at 'Hallway waiting room D', and the same nurse returns to my stretcher. "I have to test you for Covid-19, okay?"

"Yeah. Sure."

"This is a little uncomfortable."

"Okay."

She pulls out the longest fucking Q-tip I've ever seen in my life, and slips it into my left nostril. Pushes it up inside my nostril, and just when I think it can't possibly go any further up inside, pushes it up much, much further. The tip touches a section of my nose up inside my skull I didn't even know was there.

Slides it out. "Okay!"

More waiting. I realize I no longer see the two EMTs who were babysitting me.

The nurse returns. "You tested negative for Covid-19. I'm having someone transfer you to a private room."

Goes away.

But I can see the pace is starting to pick up now.

Not too long after, a male orderly comes by, probably in his thirties, reads the chart by my side of the stretcher, starts wheeling me down the hallway.

Out of the ER section, into a wider hallway.

Through a door marked, STAFF ONLY.

I remember this from the two times Mary was hospitalized this past year, the long roll with the stretcher through a labyrinth of hallways, occasionally passing hospital staff, faces smiling, stopping at a wide set of elevator doors, waiting for them to open.

Wheeled with a bump, another bump, inside the elevator, other hospital staff squeezing in around the sides of my stretcher.

Elevator stops at a floor, 'Ding', doors slide apart, All the other staff wait where they are inside until the orderly maneuvers my stretcher out into this new hallway.

Much more activity here, me being wheeled past staff hurrying in both directions in the hall, wheeled past a busy nurse's station, rolled through a doorway on the left, into a private room with a TV on the wall, and a hospital bed against the opposite wall.

I'm unhappy. The orderly is going to have to lift me from my stretcher to my new bed. Which means I'm going to experience that unbelievable pain again in my right thigh.

The orderly slides the stretcher up, back, until it's parallel to the bed.

"Will someone be helping you transfer me to the bed?"

"I can do it."

"The thing is, every time my right leg is moved, or even touched, it causes me incredible pain. I'm just really concerned it would be extremely painful for me if you did the transfer by yourself." I didn't say it, but I was also worried that during the transfer he might drop me on the floor.

The orderly looked at me. "I know I'm not the biggest guy in the world, but I want to reassure you I have the strength to do this on my own. I'm a lot stronger than I look."

"No, no, it's not that. It's just that, when the EMTs transferred me from my bed at home to their stretcher, they realized it would take both of them to do it. Even though they're big guys."

"I have the strength to do this on my own."

"I'm sure you do. But because this is a tense situation for me, I'm in a lot of pain, this is the first time I've ever been admitted to a hospital in my adult life, I'd really appreciate it if you'd help me get through this by bringing on a second guy. It would just make me feel a lot less apprehensive."

He left without a word.

Great. Now I've got the floor's orderly holding a grudge against me.

Reentered my room with a second guy. Much to my relief.

Orderly at my shoulders, new guy at my ankles, they lifted me off the stretcher.

"FUCK! FUCK!"

Carried me airborne onto my hospital bed.

The new guy left.

I raised my eyebrows at the orderly. "I really appreciate you being sensitive to my fears, no matter how irrational they were."

He arranged the white sheet over my body. "I could have done it by myself."

A nurse shows up with a nurse's assistant. While the assistant wraps a black band around my upper left arm to check my blood pressure, the nurse smiles at me. "Dr. [redacted] is making his rounds, so he'll be checking in with you soon to discuss your surgery. Because you'll be having surgery under general anesthesia, you won't be having any dinner tonight."

"So my hip surgery is scheduled for tomorrow?"

"That's right. Probably in the morning. He has some surgeries scheduled already for tomorrow, but we're going to try to schedule you for around six or seven a.m."

Huge relief on my part. I'll have the surgery, spend a day or two recovering, then get back home to Mary.

The surgeon checks in about half an hour later. Seems competent. "You'll be in a lot less pain once we repair the fracture."

I find out I won't be getting a hip replacement. Good. He just has to put a metal rod through the two halves of my hip to rejoin them, then two metal screws to secure the rod in place. I'll have a longish incision where the metal rod will be slid in, then two smaller incisions above and below that one, to place the screws.

I call Mary, let her know the latest news.

Watch the Game Show Network. America Says and Family Feud. Probably the most cheerful shows to watch when you're spending the night in a hospital. Even though you can't speed through the commercials.

The next morning, Friday, my blood pressure is checked again (as it also was during the night, waking me up).

The nurse comes in, tells me they need to do a fresh test to determine I'm Covid-free before the surgery.

Another one of those javelin-long Q-tips sliding way too far up inside my nostril.

I wait in my bed to get wheeled to my surgery.

The nurse keeps checking in with me.

"Your surgery's being postponed until nine or ten. I'll let you know when they're ready for you."

"I appreciate it."

"They're hoping to wheel you downstairs sometime in the early afternoon."

"Thanks for the update."

"The surgeon's running late. It's been an unusually busy day for him. They might have to postpone it until the weekend, or possibly Monday."

"If there's any way they could possibly do it today, I'd really appreciate it."

"I know."

Leaves.

I used to negotiate contracts for a living. One thing I learned early on: Don't get angry. Stay polite.

A little after six in the evening, two orderlies show up.

Could it be?

They transfer me from my hospital bed to a stretcher.

FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!

But I'm happy. I'm having my surgery!

One of the orderlies and me travel through hallways, ride down in an oversized elevator.

When the double doors part I don't know what floor I'm on, but it feels like I'm in the hospital's basement.

Rolled into a large, high-ceilinged space, with doorways on the right.

Wheeled into one of the doorways.

This whole time, being rolled down the hallways, descending in the elevator, I'm anticipating the extreme pain of once again being transferred from my stretcher to an operating table.

A man in his forties comes into the cubicle. "I'm Dr. [redacted]. I'll be your anesthesiologist today. How are you doing?"

And he has a really calming effect on me. Not sure why. Maybe his confidence, maybe the sense that he's one of those truly competent people who know what they're doing. You can find that in a car mechanic, a landscaper, IT troubleshooter, cake decorator. But that self-assuredness is always calming.

Especially when you're all by yourself, in a strange basement, about to be cut open.

What happened next, I'm not too sure about.

Even now, over two months later.

I have memories of a dark-haired male trying to prevent me from pulling staples out of my thigh, my fingertips bloody, someone else rushing over.

My nurse telling me I have to stay in my bed, me arguing with her that she has no legal right to force me to stay in the hospital, her insisting she does in fact have a legal right. "You're saying you have a legal right to prevent me from leaving anytime I want to?" "Yes, sir. I do." Her absolute certainty caused me to pause. Can she force me to stay here against my will? Legally?

So did any of this actually happen? Was it all just a fever dream, an aftereffect of the general anesthesia? A nightmare?

I have no idea. Probably never will.

The next morning, Saturday, I woke up. Took a minute to register my surgery was done.

Pulled down my white sheet.

White surgical dressing taped around most of my right thigh. Some of it red with blood.

There was a visible bulge underneath the dressing on my right hip, rolled-up dressing underneath the outer dressing to physically discourage me from lying on my right side.

I experimented moving my right leg. It hurt a lot less.

The nurse came in. "How are you?"

"Good."

"The surgery was a success."

"Thank you. Did I…was I arguing with you last night?"

She busied herself checking the dressing. Didn't seem alarmed by the blood on the fabric. "No."

"Okay."

An orderly came in with breakfast, but I wasn't really hungry.

Called Mary, let her know the surgery was a success. "I should be home in a day or two."

Later that day, my physical therapist showed up. Really cheerful, which I appreciated.

She secured a strong strap around my waist, which I remembered from when Mary had physical therapy following her heart valve replacement surgery, then helped me stand up off the side of the bed. "Let's try walking over to the window, then back."

I shuffled my bare feet across the hospital floor, listing to the right with each step. Determined to show I could walk, so I could get back home to Mary. "When do you think I can be released?"

"There's a lot of factors involved with that. You should check with your nurse."

And that became the big issue between me and the hospital staff.

They felt I needed to stay at least a few more days. I disagreed. I was Mary's caregiver. I needed to get back home to her, to take care of her. My surgery was a success, and I could walk with the aid of a metal walker. I was ready to leave the next day, Sunday.

Sunday morning, the nurse checked in on me again. "I'd like to be discharged today."

"That's really against hospital advice."

"I appreciate that. I acknowledge the medical recommendation is that I stay inpatient, but I want to be discharged today. I assume all responsibility for any consequences resulting from my decision, and I'm willing to sign whatever release you want me to acknowledging I've been advised to stay in the hospital and that I've chosen to ignore that advice."

The 'discussion' went on into the early afternoon. At one point the surgeon showed up, checked my stitches (I had a row of tightly packed together metal staples snaking up the outside of my right thigh to the side of my waist, like a really, really long zipper on a pair of blue jeans).

"You're healing really well. I can certainly approve a discharge for tomorrow."

"Actually, I'm asking to be discharged today."

"Oh!" Said nothing more.

My nurse returned, removed the catheter from the head of my cock. Lifted the long tube connected to the catheter, and the plastic bag hanging off the side of my hospital bed. The bag's bloated bulge sloshed with urine as she carried it away in both gloved hands. I had no idea I had been urinating this whole time.

Looked in my eyes. "You were angry when you came out of anesthesia."

"I apologize for that. Whatever I said, you obviously didn't deserve that."

Most of the hospital staff clearly disliked my decision to leave against advice, but they were professional and kept that to themselves. One nurse's aide though displayed open hostility towards me. Came in with a tall, see-through, hard plastic container. "We can't discharge you unless you can prove you can urinate on your own now that the catheter's been removed. There's the container. I'll check back from time to time. If there's no urine in it, you have to stay. Better start drinking water."

(I'm not at all exaggerating her attitude.)

So I watched game shows on TV. Drank a lot of water.

She checked in at one point.

The see-through container was empty.

Walked out without a word.

About half an hour later, feeling that old friend of fullness in my bladder, I unscrewed the top of the container, maneuvered the head of my cock over the rim, dipped it inside, pissed away.

I was pissing for Mary, I was pissing for myself, I was pissing for the wonderful world we've shared for over 40 years.

The aide returned about an hour after that. Snatched the container up off the tray to the side of my hospital bed, marched it into the bathroom as if it were a disobedient student, where I heard its contents splash down into the toilet; flushed; came back with the container empty; slammed it back down on my tray; walked out of my room.

The nurse showed up. All business.

"I need you to read and sign this form releasing [redacted] hospital of all legal liability for any consequences resulting from your decision to discharge yourself from the hospital against all medical advice otherwise."

Didn't read the form. Signed it in front of her. "May I call someone to get me now?"

"If that's your decision."

Left.

I called Peggy. "I'm ready to come home." I gave her directions on which entrance to drive to (it's a massive hospital, with multiple connected buildings.)

About forty-five minutes later, she showed up at my door accompanied by an orderly, holding in her hands a bag full of my clothes. Multiple shirts and pants, several pairs of underwear and socks, two sets of shoes.

While she went downstairs to get a wheelchair for me, I got dressed. Gathered up all my belongings.

She knocked on my closed door. Wheelchair in front of her.

Mary had been a patient in this hospital two times in the past year or so. Each time, upon discharge, a nurse had brought the wheelchair to her room, rolled her downstairs to my waiting car.

But this time, my nurse had apparently decided not to help with this final step.

As Peggy pushed my wheelchair to the row of elevators, bag of my belongings in my lap, I saw the floor's hospital staff, nurse, aides, orderlies, lined up against the waiting area just before the elevator banks. They watched me being wheeled, saying nothing. No 'Goodbye', no 'Good luck.'

Once outside in the coolness of fresh air, Peggy pushed me across the wide concrete in front of that entrance to the dark car waiting at the curb.

Her daughter Cheryl was behind the wheel.

Mary was in the back seat.

Settling in the front passenger seat, I reached behind me, grabbed her forward-reaching hand. "I love you!"

"I love you!"

Reunited.

Cheryl let down the parking brake.

Checked the rearview mirror.

Put her foot on the gas pedal.

Drove us out of the parking lot.

Drove us up onto the highway.

Drove Mary and me back home.

Maybe ten years ago, Mary and I were driving home from the supermarket.

Wintry late afternoon.

On the side road leading to our street, we saw a small white-furred dog running around in the middle of the cold road, across the sidewalk.

It looked lost.

We could drive by, we had a lot of perishables to load into our refrigerators and freezers, but instead we pulled over to the curb.

I got out of the driver's side. Walked around the rear of our car.

The dog by now had noticed me.

Hope in its eyes.

I bent my knees in the middle of the black road, Mary still inside our car, looking over the neck rests of the front seats, keeping an eye out for my safety.

Extended my right hand down towards the dog's sniffing nose.

I had always been told, that's the way to approach a strange dog. Let him sniff you, to quickly resolve in his mind the friend vs. foe thing.

He let me pet him. His head, his furred back, behind his ears.

Picked him up, put him on our rear seat. Slammed the door.

Drove him the rest of the way home.

Once our garage door was rolled down, I let him out of the back of the car, where he frisked around this new home, shovels and green garden hoses, tail wagging furiously.

We kept him in the garage because we had cats in the house.

Unloading groceries, I remembered we had a pound of sliced rare roast beef from the deli.

Peeled off a dark red slice.

He went fucking nuts.

Dangled it above his black nostrils.

He gulped it down. So grateful.

Head snapped back up, eyes lifting.

That's a dog thing, right?

I hung that second moist sheet of beef in front of his tilted-up face.

Why was he wandering these cold roads?

Did he escape, wanting to explore our wider world?

Did his master decide he now longer wanted him? Trick him into going outside, like this was going to be another walk, shut the door behind him, leaving him to his porch confusion?

Fuck, did he gobble down that second slice.

We took a picture of him, posted it around the neighborhood with our phone number, but either city workers or some neighbor who thought, No one is going to defile my telephone poles! tore all our posters down.

The day after we brought him in from the cold, it was much warmer, so we took him out into our backyard.

He frisked about, happy as could be, constantly galloping back over to our seated selves to again show his gratitude to us, licking the backs of our fingers, returning to the paths of the yard, lifting his little leg, joyously marking his territory here and there.

Except, it wasn't his territory.

We have cats. We couldn't keep him.

The following day, I called animal control.

A town employee came out, scratched the top of the dog's head to get his trust, pushed his wagging tail into a dog carrier. "He's obviously well-trained. He'll be adopted fast."

I hope that was true. I hope he wasn't just saying that to make us feel good.

But of course I'll never know.

In our lives, we meet a lot of different animals. We meet a lot of different people. The encounters aren't always pleasant. Sometimes, they're not fun at all. We can only try to be as good a person as we can be, each encounter.

I never thought I'd be a guy who broke his hip.

In the past year or so we've been to that hospital three times. Twice for Mary, this most recent time for me.

The first stay, for Mary's heart valve replacement, was the nicest, even though it was the longest. Everyone on staff seemed caring, and would usually stay after whatever task they were there to perform to chat with Mary and me for a minute or two, talk about themselves, ask about us. I was able to sleep over every night, on a sofa in Mary's room. This is probably an odd thing to say, but in some ways, it felt like a vacation. In that it was a change from our regular lives, and all things considered, we had a lot of fun. It was reassuring to know there was a place, not that far away, filled with kind people ready to help us.

Mary's second visit, when she had a subdural hematoma, was much shorter, but not quite as good. For one thing, I was no longer able to spend each night with her, because Covid-19 had started spreading. And because of the virus, the staff was understandably a bit more hurried, less attentive. Each morning I re-entered the hospital, after going back to our empty home each night to sleep, Mary seeming to be lying next to me in bed, I mean I really felt her presence beside me in bed, and each morning I'd have to be cleared through a checkpoint in the hospital's lobby, a staff member measuring my temperature, looking into my eyes.

The third visit? Mine, for my broken hip? I could see how the strain of treating so many patients week after week, without end, working double shifts, no doubt worrying that they might themselves become infected, had put everyone on edge. Again, understandably.

Now I want to say something very important, that we sometimes forget.

To the EMTs who came to our home, checked me out, and felt my hip probably wasn't broken; young x-ray technicians who giggled while I was in horrible pain, having to readjust myself over and over again to capture different angles; to the orderly who took it as a personal affront when I asked him to please get someone to help him move me from the stretcher to my hospital bed; to the nurse who was visibly annoyed with me for wanting to get back to Mary before she thought I should; to the aide who got surly and snatched my container of urine off my hospital bed's side table, dumping the contents in the toilet, slamming the container back down on the side table, storming out of my room without a word?

Thank you.

From the bottom of my heart. And I mean that absolutely sincerely.

Each of you have a much harder life than I do. You show up each day, every day, regardless of whatever stresses may be going on in your own lives. You spend ten-hour shifts helping people you've never seen before, and will never see again. Once you heal them, they're gone. And they'll probably never think about you again. Another wave of people crippled by circumstance get wheeled in, and no matter how tired you may be, how often you may want to just push open the door to the floor's restroom, lock yourself in a stall, sit on the lowered toilet lid and cry, you don't.

Because you know there's work to be done.

And you do it.

Day after day, shift after shift.

And because of you, the work you did you were sure I didn't appreciate, and your other patients don't appreciate, I was able to leave the hospital, be wheeled out to Cheryl's car, reunited with Mary, while Cheryl let down the parking brake.

Checked the rearview mirror.

Put her foot on the gas pedal.

Drove us out of the parking lot.

Drove us up onto the highway.

Drove Mary and me back home.