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News of my being awake must have filtered through to the hospital catering staff because I was woken at what felt like an ungodly hour by an orderly asking what I wanted for the day’s meals, starting with breakfast. At some time during the night there must have been a shift change because Gayle was back on duty.
“I’ll have the full English breakfast,” I said after perusing the menu, mildly surprised that the hospital would provide such fare.
“Make that the child-sized version,” interceded Gayle. “Mr Randell needs time to get accustomed to solid food again.” She did that to all my meal choices.
The orderly nodded his acceptance and left, leaving me feeling mildly aggrieved at having been countermanded. However, after eating the breakfast, a fraction of what my mum would have rustled up for me, I felt full. Gayle had been right.
Some time later, a larger-than-life character burst into the room. “Hello Kevin, may I call you Kevin, I’m Dr Silverman and I’ve been in charge of your treatment since you arrived here. It’s nice to see you awake at last. No, strike that, it’s absolutely fantastic.”
I shook Dr Silverman’s proffered hand.
“I’m glad to be awake too,” I replied, “although nobody will tell me exactly what happened.”
“I hope that can soon be remedied,” said Dr Silverman, “but first we need a new scan of your brain, just to make sure it’s still there.” He turned to Gayle. “You’re an agency nurse, aren’t you?”
“Yes sir. Mr Kafkasian hired us to monitor Mr Randell twenty-four seven. However hospital rules forbid me from carrying out any medical care.”
“Damn bureaucrats,” offered Dr Silverman, then he turned back to me. “I’m sure you’re fine but I’ll just do a few checks while we’re waiting for your carriage and driver. And a few random ticks and numbers on your chart will keep the bean counters happy.”
Despite his flippant remarks, Dr Silverman proceeded to give me a decent going-over, similar to but more detailed than the one Dr Baverick had given me the previous day.
There came a knock on the door. It was the awaited orderly, pushing a wheelchair. My mum was with him.
“Good morning dear,” she called from the doorway after the orderly had pushed the wheelchair into the room. “Are you feeling okay?”
“Yes thanks, Mum,” I called back. “Did you sleep well? You look better than yesterday.”
“Yes, it was such a relief when you woke up that I had my best night’s sleep for ages.”
“Transport for Mr Kevin Randell for an MRI scan,” announced the orderly. “Can you get into the chair unaided or do you need assistance?”
Gayle intervened. “Mr Randell will need assistance. And please be careful with the catheter bag.”
“I’m sorry, I’ve no experience at transporting patients with a catheter bag,” said the orderly. “Please can you help me.”
“Sorry,” said Gayle. “Hospital rules say I’m not allowed to carry out any medical duties.”
Dr Silverman bellowed, “Need a nurse in here!”
Instant service. A hospital nurse arrived almost before the sound had stopped reverberating around the room. The orderly and the nurse managed to get me off the bed and into the wheelchair. The nurse taped the catheter bag to my thigh and the orderly conjured a blanket from somewhere to cover me enough to afford some dignity. Then the orderly pushed me to the MRI room accompanied by Dr Silverman, both nurses and a couple of suit-wearing men who I guessed were the FBI guards.
The MRI machine was a bit claustrophobic, especially after my experience in the witch’s cave, but it all went smoothly and afterwards I was transported back to my room and put back into bed.
“Do you need anything?” the hospital nurse asked me after the orderly had left.
“Please could I have a coffee?”
“It’s okay, I can get that for you,” volunteered Gayle.
The hospital nurse thanked her, then went about her duties.
I was still sipping the coffee when Dr Silverman returned and handed me a sheaf of paper. “We couldn’t find your brain on the MRI so I’ve got some written tests I’d like you to try. Simple stuff, a six year old could do them. I’ll come back for them in about an hour.”
I don’t know what sort of six year olds Dr Silverman consorted with but I found the tests quite challenging, a mixture of IQ-style reasoning tests and current affairs questions. I didn’t know the answers to a few of the current affairs questions but overall I thought I’d given a good account of myself.
Dr Silverman returned about an hour later and collected the papers. He skimmed through them. “Not bad,” he commented, “though you’re not as savvy as my four year old granddaughter Cindy.” Then he gave me to wink to confirm he wasn’t serious.
“The bad news is that you’re absolutely going to hate the next part,” said Dr Silverman. “The even worse part is that you’ll have to eat some more hospital food afterwards. But first we need to get that catheter out.”
“Are you sure, Doctor?” questioned Gayle. “The patient isn’t yet ambulatory.”
“He will be shortly.” Then Dr Silverman again bellowed, “Need a nurse in here!”
The same instant service as before.
“Nurse, please remove Mr Randell’s catheter.”
“Yes, Dr Silverman.”
As experiences go, it was something everyone should have done to them once in their life to serve as a warning never to have it done again. It wasn’t particularly painful, but it felt really weird when the long rubber tube was pulled out of my poor abused cock. I was very grateful that the hospital nurse had closed the door after she came in so that my mum couldn’t watch.”
There came a knock at the door. Gayle answered it.
“Hi, I’m Bradley Silverman, the physiotherapist,” said the new arrival. “Is my father here?”
“Come in, Brad,” Dr Silverman called out. “This is my son, a physiotherapist. He’s not very good but it’s amazing how far nepotism can get you these days.”
In walked a poster boy for physiotherapists practising what they preach.
We all greeted Brad.
“This is Mr Kevin Randell, a very special patient. He’s been in bed for a while. By lunch time I want him walking across the room, with a walking frame if necessary. Don’t wreck him - the hospital couldn’t afford the damages.”
“Don’t worry Pops, he’s in good hands.”
“In that case I’ll leave you to it. I’ve got an MRI to re-examine in an attempt to locate a missing brain, and some tests to mark. Although perhaps I should get Cindy to redo them to paint a more flattering image of the patient. What one has to do to satisfy the bean counters!”
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