I’m lying down again. The air is still, cool, and smells weird, inauthentic somehow. Antiseptic, the air smells too clean. My eyes flutter open, everything is white or some other neutral but equally boring colour. I’m in a bed. Was this all a dream? My head feels OK, but my thoughts are slow.

I have to use the toilet. Where is the toilet? Where am I? What the fuck am I wearing? I get out of bed to try to find a toilet, but there are things sticking out of me, sticking to me. My legs are wobbly, not like before though, just asleep or weak for some reason.

“Sir, sir, you need to get back in bed. You can’t be out of bed,” I hear someone say as he quickly walks into the room.

“Am I under arrest?” I ask

“Uh, what? I don’t think so.”

“Then what exactly prevents me from using a toilet when I have to go?”

“You’re injured, and you could hurt yourself trying to use the toilet.”

“So, you want me to piss the bed?”

“No, I’ll help you. We have bed pans for that.”

I look deeply into this mans eyes to see if he’s serious. He’s looks pretty fucking serious. He wants me to piss in a fucking pan in a fucking bed, so I squint my eyes out of frustration, let out a deep breath, and say: “I’m using the toilet.”

“Sir, if you get injured, we are liable. You could sue the hospital.”

“Are you a lawyer?”

“No, I’m a nurse, and you need to listen to me.”

“Or, what?”

“Or, we’ll have to have you discharged.”

“Then have me discharged.”

The man shakes his head at me, quickly walks out, and says: “I’ll get the doctor then.”

I bring my IV with me, and go to a washroom that has no god damn lock on the door.

Son of Sappho Through the Gates , ,

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