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Thursday night becomes an attempt to stay comfortable in the bed. I have tubes in both arms but mostly on the right side.

The nurses keep insisting there are no needles in me just some sort of plastic dohickey (Ruth informs me it's a catheter like everybody KNOWS that) that sure feels like spikes driven deep. Gravity becomes my enemy and I keep my bed frames up to loop the tubes over the railings and take pressure off them. I keep my right arm very still and primarily use my left arm as it only has one connection to me--the EKG monitor which is a boxy thing with a tube I keep against my left side most of the time.

I think about TV and discover the remote can only let you change channels in one direction. I also keep dropping the thing on the floor and it stays there the first night. I don't seem to want to watch ER tonight for some reason.

Along with the pot roast dinner I request a bowl of Cherrios and see no dessert I would honor with that name so begin to awaken the drama queen a bit --silently. The waitress brings me skim milk which I did not ask for until I realize she has no clue I eat cereal plain and NEVER use milk on it. Yes this was a problem while growng up. I return the milk so as not to waste it unopened hoping they can still save it. Recycling -- not just for trophy wives you know.

I am quickly discovering that any sort of medical comment or question I raise seems to have only one result. A tube of blood gets taken. I think they like to hear me whine about this as I receive next to no sympathy but comments along the line of except it, almost done, hang in there, or hold still or I'll have to stick you again.

I manage to read my magazines with my left hand turning pages and propping them up on the dinner tray table and kill about an hour that way. The book gets started but the print has been taken from an old issue and some words are literally blurred but in context I can usually make them out and I give up after five pages deciding to save this for the big celebration of my successful return to Casa Mtpspur since marriage benefits are in Limbo for hopefully a very short time. That gets adressed on Monday as well. Shift change brings me Lee, a mid-thirties fellow who recognizes the Avengers but (big surprise) is an X-Men fan. Also movie buff. We discuss Clint Eastwood and John Wayne westerns but other then the Man With No Name trilogy we are at polar opposites on which ones we like. We both like original Battlestar Galactica better then the new version.

Now the bed frame has the nurse summoning button on both sides and at one point in providing a liquid sample on request the bedframe is left down and I find myself with no nurse call button within reach on either side. I try my sure fire attention getter called singing which generally gets me a quick reaction from Sudden Aural Hearing Infected people but gets me zip from here. I sigh and carefully move all the tubes, and equipment around to where I can reach down and muscle this set of paralell bars back into position. I succeed and think I'm not dead yet. Small but vital blow for independance.

Since I work second shift I am usually wide awake in the wee hours and my attendent is actually surprised when he does the Vampire Torture test at 1:30 am (he was a half hour late) and I am wide awake and coherent if not pleased with the jab, twist and relax drill.

I spend most of the time drifting in and out of sleep after that but at one point I'm awake for a Code 4 over the intercom and my door is suddenly firmly closed. Along with two or three others down the hallway. Being bored and curious I ask about this later. I am informed there was a fire drill. Fortunately I am sleepy or else there would have been more of a reaction then "Really?" eyebrow lifting in plain disbelief.

They must really think I'm stupid. Mostly out of boredom I decide to play detective and basically bug my shift change nurses until someone tells me what is REALLY going on. Fire drill!! Think that one through. If it was a drill I know one patient that was left behind in Room 226 to burn to a crisp without a water balloon.

On my third interrogation Linda finally gives it up. Sadly one of their fellow nurses, only 33, is dying of heart failure and he had coded Thursday night. Still alive but everyone is on pins and needles. I give some words of sympathy and never really knowing when God's timing will hit and it MUST be hard when it's someone you care for other then guys like me that come and go. Not sure that was of comfort or not. Linda was one of the ones I got to know a tiny bit--all professional-- nice enough and not overly amused by my jokes. Plus she got to see me Saturday when I was finally getting tempermental about the length of the stay here.

My doctor visited me all for about 10 minutes Thursday, mentioned some kidney things they were also going to look at and said see you first thing Friday morning. First on the block. Good they'll be at their most alert. Or still waking up. Hmmmm.

Friday morning and by now more ladies have seen me naked in two days then in my entire life and I definitely am not feeling the love. Sigh. I'm sure they were maintaining their professional decorum. Lee gets to do a very special haircut that I don't think will catch on as a fashion statement and I'm rolled down to the Operating room around 8 am.

I am reminded very much of the meat locker Rocky Balboa practiced boxing in. I swear what I could see of this place looked like a warehouse room. I'm moved to a table where I barely fit sideways and they begin.

I babble about being a whiny drama queen so they can know in advance I'm a coward and cut me some slack (very bad pun there) and that I'm 57 and finally having my very first operation. The bubble buster on the team informs me this is NOT an operation it's a procedure like it would kill him to let me have my moment and I don't talk to him anymore.

They start in doing a heart catherizer. One of the nurses yesterday said I could watch the accompanying interaction movie that goes with it where I'm the special effect but I turn that Oscar performance chance down. The Glad Gang don't even mention the movie let alone no popcorn. Some lamps are so close to my head while excavations down south are ongoing that I begin to touch the thing to see if anyone notices. Nope.

Suddenly Mother Nature decides to let me know I didn't quite fill that last bottle and wants permission to save my dignity. I announce a desire to have a quick 30 seconds intermission. I'm told no. Hmmmmm. I consider making Mother Nature wait but this crew hasn't gone particularly gone out of their way to make me feel special. I have this very strong suspicion they don't care what my first name is either. I decide what the hey and make Mother Nature's day. I lie back feeling smug of all things. A minute or two drifts by. There has been no reaction whatever to my lack of fortitude. The very next next thing I can honestly remember is that I wake up back in bed in room 226. Also still wearing the clothes I had on me when I started. To my relief the nurses sense something interesting about me and a fresh suit is provided and dignity is highly overrated in these degenerate times.

Procedures indeed.

NEXT: Friday and Escape on Saturday