Coffee break.

While Harry struggled quietly in his stuporous state the substandard support staff were enjoying chocolates with coffee. The tasty treats brought in by the grateful loved ones of former patients distracted the aides from their duties. Therefore, they failed to notice any changes in his condition. If they had recognized the significance of his increased blood pressure and steady pulse they might have informed the overworked and bitter charge nurse. They might have suggested that the hairy patient, as he had come to be known, was in need of more sedation. But they did not. Fortuitously for Harry, the Support Staff, or S.S., as he came to think of them, knew and understood very little. Their inaccurate assessment enabled Harry to secretly play ‘possum, plan and peruse his drugged dendrites for clues to his predicament. If only he could recall the names of the loathsome loquacitor and the wintry woman who bound his brain with chemical restraints and cackled evilly over his bed.

A new dawn broke. The S.S. squeaked into the room and Harry listened to their idle chatter as they prepared his morning bed bath, his mind coiled and ready, his body purposefully limp.

“Tomorrow off with your beautiful curls, Hairy”, giggled one of the silly supports as she slopped a wet cloth across his faking physiognomy. Harry twitched.


“We might as well cut it today”, said the other, “and give him a final shave tomorrow, just before surgery.”

Harry’s eyes popped open in shock and the giggler screamed. He slammed his eyes shut and went limp with fear.


“D...Di…Did you see that?!”, the screamer stuttered.
“See what?’
“His eyes! He opened his eyes!”, the screaming stutterer explained.
“Very funny. Quit fooling around, Patsy, that scream nearly put me into a cardiac arrest. Now, speaking of a rest; it’s time for coffee. Let’s go.”
“But, I’m sure,…I…,” the explainer protested.
“Patsy, listen, Dr. Em. Told us, and I quote: ‘this unfortunate mass of tissue is an encephalopic alcoholic with a massive brain tumor and a history of violence who will likely never open his eyes again.’ It is our job to keep him clean and quiet until he goes to surgery. We’ve done that. Now let’s go for coffee before I die of hypocaffinanemia.”

“Hmmmm, oh yah, I could use a chocolate donut," relented the protestor, "maybe it was just one of those reflex responses the physios always talk about.” Harry listened to their shoes squeak down the hallway.



‘Phew, I nearly blew it that time,’ he thought.


Suddenly, it hit him squarely in the Ah Hah! region. He gasped. Dr. Em…Dr. M….Dr. Maybe! And his devoted sidekick Nurse Tenderlove! Harry finally became oriented to the second sphere of awareness. This must mean that I am in the Vegas Vagus Neurological Institute soon to become the guinea pig of the dastardly chief surgeon and evil swine Dr. Maybe! I have to get out of here, now!, he concluded correctly to himself.

To be continued….