Like a wayward canine, Gastric bypass tracked a line of mud and grass through the hospital hallways. It had been a long, long couple of weeks.
His wife, a closet dictator and pedantic woman, hid behind martyrdom, practicality, and strained congeniality. On most occasions, she spent her evenings glowering at the world from their home’s secret window. From here, she recorded the foibles and faults of wandering, hapless underlings in a little notebook she kept on the sill. As the book grew, so did her fantasies of persecution and insufferable itch to control.
She called him “Poopsie”. Like a distressed, mating goose, she’d saddle up to the kitchen counter and horn-blast dicta with such g-force, Gastric had to retreat behind the nearest cupboard. Her guilt-laden diatribe, usually called for more buttressing and fortification of home and land.
“They were gawking at us,” she warned, “they were just standing there – LOOKING.”
Poopsie, resigned, would slog to his car and drive to the hardware store for more stuff to put between themselves and the world.
Now extricated from her fortress, she implanted herself like a fungal outgrowth in the hospital room corner. On her lap, she opened a new notebook. A stolen copy of hospital rules and regulation stuck out from her purse.
Gastric Bypass entered the room to find her lemon-faced. “Are your panties full of Sriracha? Why don’t you get yourself something to eat, it’s been DAYS.”
“I’m busy,” she said returning to her notebook.
Plotting a graph, she compared hospital staff uniforms, task times, and hand-washing habits. Little snippets of overheard dialogue peppered the margins.
Sighing, GP rolled himself into bed.
“I need to hook up my suction again,” he said, “wonder where that nice nurse went to?”
“The one with the slutty skirt who carries a picture of her unkempt preschool son? I saw her chatting at the station, missed the call bell when I rang it.”
“Why’da ring the call bell Mara?”
“You’re out of water.”
“I can’t drink.”
“Doesn’t matter, she’s costing us time and taxpayers’ money. I want our money’s worth Calvin.”
Calvin looked to the window. In the reflection he saw the nurse, buxom and generously bottomed. He felt himself flush and dropped his toothbrush on the floor.
“I’ll get it,” she smiled. Mara choked as the nurse leaned over to pick it up. Calvin grinned.
“I’ve got some news for you Calvin. Labs came back normal. Your biopsy shows no sign of cancer. Doctor’s are saying it’s a miracle. You’re completely healed. I can take out the tube now.”
Calvin felt a wave of strength pass through his body. A miracle indeed.