Nekkid
It’s the weekend so I thought I would tell you one of the other funny stories during my hospital stay recently.
No one could ever accuse me of being a prude, but I do put limits on how many clothes I shed at any given time. A lengthy stay at the hospital, especially when you’re slightly disabled changes everything.
Modesty flies out the window when you’re trapped in a hospital. The staff waltzes into your room like they’re punching in a time clock. Each one gives you a cheerful hello before whipping off your blankey and rolling up your hospital gown so they can check your incision.
Okay, I got used to that. Although I’m fairly certain the last person who checked under my undies was from UPS. The brown shorts gave him away. Nonetheless, he said my incision was healing nicely and did I have any packages to ship today. (uh...no thanks.)
But my humiliation was only starting to escalate. The fun really started the first time they allowed me to use the bathroom. There I was staggering into this enormous bathroom, rattling my IV crane behind me. Greg was on one side and a nurse was on the other.
I walked into the john and turned to find them still in the room with me. “OUT,” I ordered in my most authoritative voice. Neither one moved.
I stood there tapping my foot as Greg argued with me to let them stay. “I can manage without you,” I insisted. By this time my foot was tapping out Morse code. They left--barely. I could still hear their heavy breathing on the other side of the door. As soon as they heard my IV crane creaking they both charged into the room like a swat team, cradling me like I was so much fine china. Pulllease!
I wasn’t even allowed to flush. They had to check my urine output in a little bowl. Indignation knows no bounds.
Ah, but that was only the beginning. The next day they let me shower. Only I couldn’t be trusted to do that on my own. They had a bright yellow band on my wrist labeling me as a fall risk. I had every reason to believe Greg had ratted on me and told them I was a klutz.
I desperately wanted a shower. At this point I didn’t care who saw me naked. So I acquiesced to their demands. I don’t know how many people were in that bathroom, but it felt like there was an octopus in that shower stall with me. Hands were everywhere. One brought a stool for me. Another folded a towel over the seat. Yet another held my IV tube out of the way, then wrapped my IV’d wrist in a glove so I wouldn’t get it wet.
Finally Greg was next to me. He was sweet, bathing me and washing my hair. I would’ve even called it kinky if I hadn’t felt like such a train wreck. Ah well, timing is everything.
By the time it was over I didn’t care who saw me naked as long as I was clean. We all have our price for shedding our modesty. I guess in my case, cleanliness is not next to godliness.
No one could ever accuse me of being a prude, but I do put limits on how many clothes I shed at any given time. A lengthy stay at the hospital, especially when you’re slightly disabled changes everything.
Modesty flies out the window when you’re trapped in a hospital. The staff waltzes into your room like they’re punching in a time clock. Each one gives you a cheerful hello before whipping off your blankey and rolling up your hospital gown so they can check your incision.
Okay, I got used to that. Although I’m fairly certain the last person who checked under my undies was from UPS. The brown shorts gave him away. Nonetheless, he said my incision was healing nicely and did I have any packages to ship today. (uh...no thanks.)
But my humiliation was only starting to escalate. The fun really started the first time they allowed me to use the bathroom. There I was staggering into this enormous bathroom, rattling my IV crane behind me. Greg was on one side and a nurse was on the other.
I walked into the john and turned to find them still in the room with me. “OUT,” I ordered in my most authoritative voice. Neither one moved.
I stood there tapping my foot as Greg argued with me to let them stay. “I can manage without you,” I insisted. By this time my foot was tapping out Morse code. They left--barely. I could still hear their heavy breathing on the other side of the door. As soon as they heard my IV crane creaking they both charged into the room like a swat team, cradling me like I was so much fine china. Pulllease!
I wasn’t even allowed to flush. They had to check my urine output in a little bowl. Indignation knows no bounds.
Ah, but that was only the beginning. The next day they let me shower. Only I couldn’t be trusted to do that on my own. They had a bright yellow band on my wrist labeling me as a fall risk. I had every reason to believe Greg had ratted on me and told them I was a klutz.
I desperately wanted a shower. At this point I didn’t care who saw me naked. So I acquiesced to their demands. I don’t know how many people were in that bathroom, but it felt like there was an octopus in that shower stall with me. Hands were everywhere. One brought a stool for me. Another folded a towel over the seat. Yet another held my IV tube out of the way, then wrapped my IV’d wrist in a glove so I wouldn’t get it wet.
Finally Greg was next to me. He was sweet, bathing me and washing my hair. I would’ve even called it kinky if I hadn’t felt like such a train wreck. Ah well, timing is everything.
By the time it was over I didn’t care who saw me naked as long as I was clean. We all have our price for shedding our modesty. I guess in my case, cleanliness is not next to godliness.
Comments
{Hugs}
Maria