Most of my Reavers have heard by now how I woke up in the hospital to a nurse’s aide reading Twilight to me. Twilight. My first thought was this isn’t a hospital, this is HELL. The second psyche-damaging event being all my nurse’s aides watched reality TV 24/7. Dance Moms (obviously demons in human form), one in which people caught rattlesnakes for a living, one about a tattoo artist with a LOT of Nazi ink on her body…it was a white trash buffet. Yep, those were bad times.
Here’s another lovely experience, this time for the medical personnel (not counting the male nurse I kicked in the chest.) They had me on so many drugs to sedate me when I was on the ventilator and then when I was off the ventilator but on dialysis (as I kept ripping out my IVs and dialysis port) that I hallucinated for all but six days of the 3 1/2 week stay ($95,000 hospital bill for those who think they don’t need insurance. Yes, you didn’t misread–$95,000.) During one of these episodes I hallucinated a man stole my identity, was dressing up as a woman and going to Conventions doing book signings as me. And all the nurses were whispering that I was the man (in a wig) and the identity thief was really me. What could I do? One thing…so apparently I insisted to every single person that walked in the room that they lift up my hospital gown and see for themselves I was a woman, vagoo and all (worse, I wasn’t with it enough to charge a dollar a peek if anyone took me up on it.) Now there are probably fifty traumatized people roaming the city that I tried to entice to take a look at my goodies whether they wanted to or not. This is why I heavily fictionalize bedside hospital scenes. If Cal did that, how angsty would it be?
Although, Goodfellow would do it and the hell with the angst.