that hip's one nutty guy

Goddam…piss…piss…I gotta pisssss….damn, darlin', how come I got a boner if I gotta piss….

"Wake up."

Huh?

"Wake up, baby." Somebody in the dream grabbed my hand…. started shaking it… Oh, it's you…

"Yeah, it's ME, Lynnie. Now WAKE UP!"

I got an eye open. Oh. This ain't no dream. The nightlight…no, wait, I don't have a nightlight…the bathroom light. Look at that shoulder, the curve of the back, that perfect ass….no wonder I have a boner…."Mmmmmm…"

"Are you awake now, baby?" Lynnie was talking into her pillow, we were spooning half under the sheets in the tandem fetal position, I had a raging piss-boner against her pretty ass. Life was good.

"Yep. I gotta piss. Let go of my hand….."

"OK. I'm goin' back to sleep now."

"..and grab my…"

"Oh, go piss."

Lynnie and me were in that perfect place between learning each other and knowing too much. She had left her mama and her boyfriend to come live with me in my crappy little three-room cottage. Her mama hated me for it. Her boyfriend told me, "Man, sometimes I want to kill you. But you're alright. I won't." Being as Lynnie was playmate material without the airbrush or stupid bio, Mama was a backbiting shrew and Boyfriend weighed in about 220, I loved our relationships.

I peeled out of our sheets and stumbled to the bathroom, a distance of about four feet. You could get to any room from any room in the space of four feet in that place, now that I think about it.

"Damn, baby, did I ever tell you how hard it is to piss with a full-on boner?"

"Mmmmm," Lynnie said into her pillow. "No. Shutup. I gotta get some sleep."

Old Captain Happy was still standing at rock-hard attention and there wasn't any arguing with him. I bent over the toilet and kind of pointed him sideways and down so it looked like I would at least hit below the rim; gun sites would have helped. Come on, bladder, bust through the gate. I pushed.

JEEZUS!

A high voltage spark of pain popped out of my left nut and hit my guts, I felt like throwing up and screaming at the same time. Since that's pretty much impossible I did the next best thing …I fell bass-ackwards into the sink with both hands around my crank. My ass hit the faucet handle on the way down, a cold waterfall started at the base of my back and worked its way down my butt crack to my nuts.

Somebody should have taken a picture of that: A goofy half-asleep asshole squirming in the bathroom sink apparently double-fisted jacking off with water running down his ass wearing nothing but a pained twisty-face. It would have made a great porn shot. Funny as hell….to everybody but me.

"Are you OK, baby?" I could tell Lynnie wasn't talking to her pillow now.

Sweat was beading up on my face. The pain had turned into a sick dull fire in the bottoms of my gut… like when I was a twelve-year-old and racked myself on the bar of my bicycle…or maybe the fifteen-year-old catching the dingo boot in the groin during a fistfight. Add some cold water to the scrotum and I had myself a blue-veiner to penile inversion in about five seconds. Parade Rest, Captain Happy.

I pushed myself out of the sink and turned the water off.

Damnation.

"Yeah, I reckon so. You been kickin' me in the crotch in my sleep?"

"No. But I'm thinkin' about it. Now come to bed."

The pleasure of getting my bladder empty almost made me forget the burning in the guts. Yeah. Feels so good you wanna do it again.



The company nurse always looked like she had recently wiped her ass with a cheese grater. Add to that her moustache and the smell of some kind of noxious chemical in her office and you could see why everybody called her "Frau Hitler".

"Now, then, Mr. Huffman, why have you come to see me today?" She laid her hands on her desk palms down, fingers straight, exactly shoulder width apart. A blank form was between her hands, a pen precisely in the center of it. She leaned toward me as she spoke.

THAT's the funky smell….it's her mouthwash. What IS that? Roof tar?

"Well, um, my supervisor told me to come see you. I just want to go see a doctor."

She leaned back straight. Her hands didn't move. "And what is bothering you?"

Your breath. And that moustache is gonna make me start laughing. Permanent Nestle's Quick. Shutup, Huffman..

"Um, it's a personal problem."

Her brow furled and her eyes narrowed further, if that was possible.

Must be a strap-on cheese grater. I could feel the corner of my mouth start to curl up into grin mode. Look, I told you to shutup, Huffman.

"Mr. Huffman, as you can see.." Her eyes peeped down at the form between her hands, back at me. "my job is to screen employee's health issues so that I can properly assess their dispositions and make recommendations. You can be frank with me."

Or George. Hey, how about you bein' 'Adolf'!? 'Eva' doesn't fit. Look, Huffman, I ain't tellin' you again.

"Well," I looked down at the nameplate on her desk. 'MS. HUTCHINSON , LVN'. "Ms. Hutchinson, I would really be more comfortable talkin' to a doctor about my issues and dispositions."

Ms. Hutchinson grabbed her pen. I thought she was going to break it.

"A doctor? Hmmm. Do you mean a male doctor?"

"Yep."

I couldn't decide if the pen or her forehead was going to explode first. She spread her arms and put her elbows on the desk; she took a deep breath. Her hands were almost in fists.

The pen's gonna blow first. I sat back as far as I could in my chair.

"Mr. Huffman, company policy dictates that I fill out this form.." She stabbed the form with the pen on each syllable, "..and a description of your ailment must be on it so that I can release you to the company clinic."

I had to think for a moment about that one. "So I'm goin' to the company clinic no matter what?"

"Yes."

"Then your job is not to assess my issues or recommend anything. You have to scribble somethin' on your form."

I was wrong. The forehead blew first.

"If you PREFER to THINK of it THAT WAY, MR. HUFFMAN!"

My head nodded backward with each word.

Day-am. OK:

"Then scribble this, Ms. Hutchinson: My left gonad feels like a Brown Missouri Mule used it for kickin' practice. It's swole up to the size of a fairly healthy lime. I've felt like pukin' on your desk ever since I came in here. Can you write that down and let me get the hell out of here?"




"Mr. Huffman?" I looked up from my 'REDBOOK' or whatever lame-ass years-old magazine I was pretending to read. I was the only one in the waiting room.

"That's me."

"Dr. Blankenship will see you now." The nurse watched me limp past her through the door leading to the exam rooms. My nut was radiating pain into my guts with every step, and it didn't help that I had had to sit in the waiting room for 45 minutes in those tight-ass 80's jeans, either. Those fuckers squeezed a man's package no matter how he put his legs.

Why the hell, EXACTLY, do we wear these stupid designer jeans, again? Oh, yeah. Those goofy fuckers on Saturday Night Live say, 'So the fine American Chicks can check out our huge crotch bulg...."

"Just have a seat here in Room 2." She turned to a clipboard on the counter while I grunted my way by to lean against the exam table.

Damn, look at that big ass. If that ain't the size of a 2 washtub I'll...

She turned, looking at the clipboard, then stared directly at my crotch. Her face turned pink. My gonad groaned.

Fine American Chicks my ass. Her ass, I mean. That nasty face could stop a digital watch. Oh, well, at least her tits match the ass…..

"Uhhh, Nurse?"

She blinked her eyes and looked up at my face. "Huh, oh...yes...are you taking any medications?"

I damn sure will be when I get out of here.

"No."

She jotted something on the clipboard. "OK. Have a seat on the table, Dr. Blankenship will be right with you."

"I'll stand. Sittin's becomin' a real adventure."

The corner of her mouth moved like it wanted to smile, then thought better of it. She snuck another peek at my crotch on the way out then shut the door.

Normally I get real busy in exam rooms at that point; rummaging through drawers and cabinets, checking out all the cool medical shit. In drug times before I had rescued back-up syringes. I still have a good supply of scrubs at home that I've 'borrowed' from various Doctor's offices, some damn comfortable duds. This time I thought it best to just stand still.

Good thing, too, the door swung open while I was staring down at my crotch bulge, thinking about it.

"Mr. Huffman?"

"That's me." A pair of long scuffed black shoes shuffled into sight, a long white hand appeared in my face. I took the hand and looked up.

By God, sir, I do believe you're older than dirt.

"I'm old Dr. Blankenship. Well, let's seeeeee here, son." He let go my hand and looked at the clipboard in his other. "Hmmm. You say you have problems in your privates...heehee..."

What's so fuckin' funny? I still use my privates from time to time, you old...

"Yes sir. The left one's swellin' up and givin' me grief."

He looked down. "I can see that. Let's have a closer look at it, son. Drop your drawers."

"Well, sir, would you mind if we closed the door first?"

He crooked his old neck around as if he thought he had already closed it. 2 washtub and another nurse were standing across the hall looking in and snickering to themselves. 2 washtub put her hand over her mouth and came to the doorway.

"Dr. Blankenship, would you like some privacy?"

"Yes, heeheee," Doc Blankenship said in my direction.

"Yep," I said in hers.

2 pulled the door to.

Doc Blankenship shuffled a step toward me. "Well, son, skin 'em."

"Yes sir."

The button and zipper worked easy; it's when the left jewel flopped into free air that I groaned.

Damn, Huffman, you were just complaining about confinement and now you're...

"Well, son, I see you don't wear underwear. That was going to be my first guess, tight underwear."

"No sir. I find them cumbers....AWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!" Doc Blankenship grabbed my nut and pressed it like he was testing an avocado. It was all I could do not to fall on him and knock us all down. The gag sensation was more powerful than, say, two hot bottles of Boone's Farm Strawberry Fields in the belly of a teen-ager at 3 o'clock in the morning after 15 bong hits...near as I could tell.

Doc put his hand on my chest. "Steady, son. What you have here is a classic sports condition. Have you had a good knock to the groin recently?"

Yeah, real recently, you squeezin' dickhead.

The pain sweats were pouring off, I could barely breathe. I leaned back on the exam table and huffed, "I, uh, don't, play, sports...unless, you, count, wrasslin', with, my, old, lady, of, a, night-time..."

"Well, son, that's it. You've banged your testicle hard and it's inflamed. Pull your britches up and sit on the table."

Doc pulled a pen out of his lab coat and shuffled over to the counter with his clipboard.

"I'll, stand. Movin's, becomin', a, real, adventure."

I got my jeans up, but I was damned if I was going to zip the things. I left my shirt out and covered my crotch.

Doc scribbled a few things. "Do you have a heating pad at home?"

"Yes sir."

He turned and handed me a prescription blank with some words on it. "This here's your Doctor's excuse for work. Put your feet up at home with your heating pad between your legs. Three days. If the swelling hasn't come down by then come back and see me."

If this shit don't feel better by tomorrow I'm gonna shoot everybody includin' me.

"Ok, Doc. You reckon you could open the door for me?"

He crooked his neck toward the door and winced.

"Just kiddin', Doc. Thanks."




An oft-quoted wise person once said, "Yeah, right."

The dream was entirely too real. The space was hot, it felt bigger than any place I had ever been. A voice...no, not really a voice, a sense, said, "I have you down." I felt like my arms were spread and pinned; my legs were pushed together straight, I couldn't move anything. The heat of the space felt as if it were coming from me, as if I were a pool of stifling hot fluid steadily rising and filling my own nose, the sense with the voice was pushing its (my) palm down on my mouth.

I'm tryin' to dream, asshole. Who are you?

"You."

Bullshit. I was watchin' Jim Rockford on TV.

"The TV is off. Smother at your leisure."

Double bullshit. I wouldn't turn Jim off.

"Granted. But why are you smothering?"

'Cause you're sittin' on my chest. I can't breathe.

"Exactly."

Say, man, are you the devil?

"BABY!"

Don't call me baby, motherfucker. You don't know me that well.

"What? Baby, wake up!"

I got an eye open. A blur was in my face. Lynnie's face. Focus. Yeah, Lynnie. Bed. She had her hands on my shoulders. Her face was dripping sweat onto mine.

"Damn girl, what you sweatin' about?"

She collapsed on my chest, put her arms around my neck, spoke into my ear. "It's your sweat. I've been tryin' to wake you up since we got here. My God, baby, you're burnin' up. Mama's here."

"Mmmm. Speak of the devil. Do me a favor, darlin'. Get off me and let me breathe."

"You sure?"

"Yeah." Lynnie sat up on the bed, her eyes stayed on me. My palms were spread out on the sheets, the whole bed around me was sopping wet and cold. The living room light was on, I could see the top of Mrs. Lynnie's beehive hairdo moving over the cast-iron partition. She turned the corner and stopped. She had a grocery bag in each arm.

"We've brought some groceries while you were taking your nap. My Goodness, you look awful."

Yeah, well, you look like you're balancin' a blow-dried cow-plop on your head.

"Good evenin', Mizz Wilmson. I feel pretty awful, thanks for noticin'. Excuse the mess."

Mrs. Lynnie sniffed and walked the four feet to the kitchen.

Lynnie put her hand on my forehead and looked worried. "Ya know," I whispered, "She's gonna keel over one day if I keep bein' polite to her…"

"Shhhh. She means the best…"

"Uh-huh. Hey, was the TV on when you got here?"

Lynnie looked over at my little 5-inch portable black and white.

"No."

"Damn. Funny. I could swear I was watchin' Jim Rockford while ago. I think Angel was tryin' to smother me."

"You haven't had the TV on all day…damn, baby, you're burnin' up. That's it…"

She turned to the kitchen. "Mama, I'm takin' Steve to the hospital."



The emergency room was empty -- on the South Side of Fort Worth, Texas, at 9 PM, the emergency room was empty. No people laying around bleeding on gurneys, nobody standing around waiting for chairs, not even any ambulance guys or cops milking time chatting up nurses; the automatic glass doors had barely opened before somebody sat me in a wheelchair and rolled me up to the counter.

"I hope they're showin' Jim Rockford up in here," I said.

Lynnie patted me on the head. The nurse at the counter looked me over and pulled out some forms. She looked at Lynnie and spoke like I wasn't there.

"He looks delirious. What happened?"

"The doctor told him to lay around for a few days 'cause his testicle hurt. It's swole up like a baseball now and he's burnin' up with fever….I think he's bad sick."

The nurse already had a phone in her ear. "I'm paging the on-call Urologist right now. Do you have your insurance card with you?"

Lynnie put her hands around my face and leaned down to me. "Where's your insurance card, darlin'?"

"My billfold. Hey, nurse, your badge says 'Peabody'. Hee-hee. Nurse Peeeee-body! Hey, I gotta peeee….."

Lynnie stood up. "I gotta go back to the house and fetch his billfold. His insurance is Aetna. He works for the big M. I'll be right back."

The nurse hung the phone up, looked at me and smiled. "No need, we'll catch up later. Dr. Threadgill is on his way." She looked at Lynnie. "Can I get you to start these forms? Dr. Threadgill wants us to prepare him for surgery."

"Surgery?"

"Surgery. Just in case."

The wheelchair nurse rolled me toward the elevators.

"Surgery, boogery, forms and florms. Say, Peeeeebody, do ya'll show 'The Rockford Files' up in here?"




"Come on, sweetheart, give me a cough. You have to wake up and cough for me."

Cough?

"Yes, that's it. Wake up, now. Just give me a little cough."

Look, whoever you are, get out of my dream. I'll wake up as soon as Farrah gets done with her bidness…and why do people I don't know keep callin' me 'baby' and 'sweetheart'?

"Come on, just a little cough."

Dammit, now look what you did.

"What, honey?"

What, my ass. Farrah and Raquel are bouncin' out on their pogo sticks. You ran 'em off with your damn coughin'…say, did you just call me 'honey'? I'm gettin' about tired of that shit….

"That's right, cough. You're waking up now…give us a little cough."

My eyes opened. I was lying on my left side. A white blur was blocking the vision of my left eye, my right one came to focus on a woman facing me in pink nurse's scrubs bending over someone in a bed next to me. I looked past her, there was a row of tightly-made beds that seemed to go on and on into a white florescent distance. I smelled alcohol and something else. Frau Hitler, is that you? Oh, yeah. Hospital. My head started a hangover kind of ache. My eye came back to my left hand, it had a tube taped to it that ran off in the direction of the…oh, yeah, nurse..the nurse…. she was gently shaking what I could now see was a small woman with her back to me.

"Mmnnnn," said the little woman.

"Come on, dear, it's time to wake up. Cough for me."

Enough is enough, by God. This pink coughin' woman is givin' me a headache.

My mouth was glued shut with dried spit that tasted like copper. I forced my teeth apart with my tongue.

"Hey, why don't you leave her alone?" My voice sounded like a squeaky toy in my head. "Can't you see she's tryin' to sleep?"

The nurse looked over at me with an expression like I wasn't the first smartass she'd ever come across.

"I'm trying to get her to wake up and cough because she's been on her back for hours under general anesthesia and fluid has collected in her lungs, which could bring on pneumonia. Come to speak of it, how's about YOU giving me a little cough, Mr. Smarty-pants?"

'Mr. Smarty-pants'. Look, it's Mrs. Rogers. In a pink outfit. Shutup, Huffman.

"No problem." I sucked in a lungful of hospital smell and coughed. My crotch felt like someone slashed it with a dull bread knife that had been sterilized on a campfire. I curled up into a ball and grabbed myself around the knees, I started to yell but the cough brought on a tickle in my lungs that I couldn't stop, I started choking and hacking like emphysema had set in, every cough sent a whole new experience of ragged pain into my groin, I coughed until I couldn't anymore then laid my head in the phlegm on the pillow and tried not to breathe. I could see with both eyes now, they were plenty watery.

"Uh-huh. Tough guy." The nurse said, then went back about her business. "Come on, hon, wake up and give us a cough."

If she's gonna go through what I just did then don't bother wakin' her up. I'm thinkin' asleep or dead is better.

"Ah, you're awake. That's pretty quick, we usually have to rouse people." The voice was familiar and it came from behind me. Doc Urologist. Threadgill. I held my knees tight and forced out a word.

"Doc?"

"That's me."

"Whew. I think Pinky Tuscadero here just ruptured somethin'."

Pinky gave me a stabbing glance. The little woman muttered something like, "No, Daddy, it's in the closet." Doc moved around the bed and sat on a stool in front of me.

"Your particular surgery doesn't get along well with coughing. We apologize, but it's necessary that you clear your lungs. Good job, Janice, our patient here seems to be just fine."

"Thanks," said Janice. "Cough for me, dear."

"I swear it's in the closet, Daddy. It's the pink one," little woman said. I don't think I want to know what she's dreamin' about.

"Yeah, my crotch fell off but other than that... say, Doc, what's the chances of gettin' a drink of water and a blast of the best pain shit you got?"

Little woman coughed a weak little cough. "Oooooohhhhhhh…."

Toldya.

"You can have a small swallow to rinse out the cobwebs," He picked up a plastic cup with a flexible straw off the table next to me, put the straw in my mouth. "But no more. Your bladder is as full as it's ever been…."
Wanna bet? I slurped in a mouthful and swirled it around. Yeah. Better.

"but pain meds have to wait until we get you stabilized in your room." He pulled the straw out of my mouth before I could get another swallow.

"My bladder doesn't feel full at all. Hey, did you have to cut out a lot of infection?"

"You've been under GA for…" He looked at his watch, "about five hours with a constant IV drip, which means your bladder is entirely full. As for the surgery, we removed the testicle. The infection killed it."

"Five hours? Damn. Seemed like 15 minutes….shit…I only got one nut?"

"Yes. Sorry. If you had come to me to begin with we could have saved it with antibiotics. Men do perfectly fine with one testicle. There are prosthetic devices, though, if that is a concern…"

Ah, fuck it. I'm not gonna be in any porn movies, I guess. Another rip of pain came from my crotch just from thinking about it. And besides, nobody's ever gettin' close to my nut sack with a knife again…unless I really piss the old lady off. And I can handle her.

"Naw, Doc. One will do." I finally got the balls (ha!) to reach my hand under the sheets to check the situation. Diaper. They had me in a big puffy diaper bandage. I raised the sheet and looked. A bloody diaper. The visual added to the pain; it was edging into intolerable.

"It hurts…." mumbled the little woman. No shit.

"Doc, not to cut you off, but I'm really ready to get to my room and get stabilized. If you know what I mean."

"Yes. I can see that. Janice, please see to getting both of these patients to their rooms."

"Yes, Doctor. Give us another cough, sweetie."




Lynnie was standing by the window in my room when they rolled me in.

"How do you feel, baby?" she asked.

"Oh, kinda like somebody cut my left nut off, I guess. And you?"

I always could get a laugh out of Lynnie. She giggled and got out of the way. A nurse grabbed my shoulders, a burley black dude with a stethoscope draped over his neck grabbed my ankles. "We're gonna lift you onto the bed," he said.

"Naw, hell no. I can do it." I rolled off the gurney and plopped face-first onto the bed. "AHHOwwwww!"

The nurse helped me turn over. "Another tough guy. You're going to break your stitches, tough guy."

"Yeah," said the black dude. "Here comes the other one."

Two white guys with stethoscopes rolled in a gurney with a 50ish white guy on it. The guy was so knocked out he looked dead; his face was ashen and he didn't appear to be breathing.

"Damn," I said. "What's wrong with him?"

The nurse pulled the cuff from the blood pressure gadget on the wall and wrapped it around my arm. "Heart surgery." She snugged the velcro and began pumping the little ball. The two white guys picked up their patient and set him on the bed next to me. He didn't make a sound.

"Are you sure he's breathin'?" I asked. One of the white guys looked at me like I was a bug in a hospital gown. "Yes. He's been in surgery since last night. He's got a lot of Demerol in him." He pulled the curtain around the guy's bed.

"No shit. Speakin' of Demerol, what's the ch..."

"You're in a good deal of pain, aren't you?" The nurse was staring at the blood pressure gauge on the wall. She pulled the velcro free with a ripping sound.

Yeah. Actually I'd say it was a bad deal.

"Yep."

A long moan came from behind the curtain. Damn, what are they doin' to that dude?

"Damn, what are ya'll doin' to that dude?"

One of the white dudes came from behind the curtain, the black dude rolled my gurney out to the hall then came back in, grinning. "We've inserted a catheter to empty his bladder," the white guy said. "Now it's your turn." He pulled a clear plastic bag with a long thin tube out of his pocket. The nurse walked out.

Quick check for self: a) They crammed one of those tubes up a guy's dick who has a knock-out dose of narcotics in him, and it still hurt so bad he hollered. b)The nurse cheesed it. c) My bloody crotch is already on fire. Response: No and fuck NO.

"Nope. Not today, boys."

The black dude crossed his arms. "Now, don't make me hold you down." I got the feeling he would enjoy doing just that. The white guy stepped toward me. I scanned around for weapons. Lynnie leaned back against the wall, out of the way...that gal always did have some pretty good sense.

"See this IV stand here?" I tapped it with the hand that was attached to it. The white guy stopped.

"Yes?"

"Take another step and ya'll are gonna think a helicopter done spun up in here."

The black dude dropped his arms and moved toward me. His grin was an open smile now. I put my hand around the IV stand. The nurse walked in with a clipboard and a big syringe in her hands.

"What in the world is going on in here?" she said. The black guy stopped.

"There's fixin' to be a fight if they try to stick that catheter in me, " I said. The nurse studied my face.

"Do you think you can pee in a bedpan?"

Verses gettin' a tube up my dick? Is the actor who played in 'Bedtime for Bonzo' the fuckin' President of the United States?

"Hell, yeah."

"Give him a bedpan." She motioned to the black guy. He leaned over, pulled a shiny stainless steel pot from under the bed and handed it to me. His smile was gone. I guess I spoiled his afternoon. Everybody stared at me.

"I never could piss when people were watchin' me."

"Come on," the nurse said, "give him some privacy." The two guys shuffled out. "You too, Miss." She motioned at Lynnie. Lynnie looked at me.

"Go on, darlin', I'm alright."

"OK. Call me if you need me." I winked at her, she touched my arm and walked out. The nurse set the chart down on my nightstand and started flicking at the syringe with her fingernail.

"I don't think you can pee, but maybe this will help. Bottoms up."

"What is it?"

"250 milligrams of Demerol."

"Bless your heart." I turned my butt toward her and opened my gown.

"This might hurt a little..."

"Uh-huh."

I felt a little pressure in my right bun then a burn. I turned and the nurse was already walking out. "I'll give you ten minutes and there better be some pee in that bedpan," she stopped and turned back to me. "Otherwise....." She walked out. My roommate moaned from behind his curtain.

I hear ya, man.

I leaned over on my side and pulled the bandage down enough to get Captain Happy free.

Shit, dude, you're all shrunk up. I don't blame ya.

A warm cocoon of buzz started in my cheeks and slowly spread its way around my head then down.

Ahhh. Yeah.

I set the bedpan on the mattress and drooped my dick over the edge of it the best I could. The buzz made it to my crotch. I pushed my bladder, ever so gently. A dribble ran into the bedpan.

Good enough.

I fell over on my back, breathing hard. Man, that sure was alotta work for a little dribble. The buzz was all over me now, I was sweating...a pleasant sweat. Yeah.
My head fell back on the pillow, the room was starting to swim, my eyes wouldn't stay open. I could feel Lynnie moving next to me, her hand on my forehead.

"Baby, do you want me to do anything?"

"Yeahhhhh. Thank that nurse. I highly recommend this Demerol shit."

"OK. Anything else?"

"Huhhhhhh?? Oh, keep that catheter away...say....do ya think they show Jim Rockford up in here......."

I drifted off to dreams.