harryhero

Harry Hero is a collaborative family writing project. He began as typing practice for author #6 in the mid-seventies. Authors M, 1, 4, 5, 7, spontaneously and sarcastically contributed until Harry took on a life and momentum of his own. He was reborn as a Christmas project in the early nineties and again as a web project in the new millennium. Once more Harry has risen from near tragic and certain literary deaths to live again as blog practice. Bulwer-Lytton judges take note.

About Me

My photo
It seems I have suffered and survived a few insults and injuries to my cranium, thus my memory does not lend itself to one seamless life I could call my own. Instead, my life seems to be one dim episode after another documented by a random and rather odd conglomeration of assorted biographers who, for some bizarre reason, seem compelled to document my trials as if I were a remarkable hero. Heroism can take many forms. Perhaps it is finding fresh strawberries in November for the Manhattan socialite's crepes as she breaks her fast. Perhaps it is found in a multitude of skills, lucky breaks and death defying feats. It may be true that piloting my faithful rig, Betsy, through the Canadian Rockies is not for the weak of spirit, mind or body; I claim no special talents other than devoted love and endless hope. Love of a good truck, a good cup coffee and a good adventure. Hope of self-actualization and...Sophie? If you desire a chronological –not necessarily logical- plotline begin reading at the January 26 2006 post - The Not So Constant Gardener - and follow subsequent postings to present day.

Blog Archive

Sunday, February 12, 2006

Sophie does rounds

Meanwhile….Sophia de Costa, chief night nurse for the past thirteen years, is going about her regular 2 AM rounds. As she walks mechanically from one room to the next, checking vital signs and making quick scribbles on charts, she wonders why she ever got into this job in the first place. Her romantic dreams of life-saving melodrama seemed light-years away from the bed pans and dressings that she nonchalantly changed every hour. Ha! Remember that young doctor ten years ago? She thought he was more interested in than her long legs and green eyes. Yeah, turns out he was. Oh well, Father O’Grady says sins of intention are not quite as mortal as the real thing.



Oops! Almost woke Mrs. Silva. Sorry, old girl. Don’t want you whining all night for a cup of lukewarm tea with exactly one and one-half tablespoons of canned milk. Now, onto this new patient in 408. What’s his history? Toenail transplant?! Give me a break! This is our taxpayer’s money? OK, here we go—how can he sleep with the moon shining on his face?…Oh, look at him! He reminds me of my Harry. (Doesn’t everyone?) Will I ever get that man out of my system? That chin, those barely visible laugh lines at the corner of his eyes. Wonder if….
Mercy! Look at his chart! Can it really be? A LOBOTOMY!!! No, No, No! this will not happen! Where’s that lab coat? In the hallway closet…Quick before old McGregor looks up from her re-runs. Harry my love; for it is you….there will be no surgery done on you. Let them look for you in the morning. Sophia will take care of you. Hold on now!



Hmm, these sins of intention will just have to be dealt with one of these days!
Posted by at

No comments:

Post a Comment

Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom)