The better part of yesterday was spent in a hospital room. On a positive note, my father is (at least when not on morphine) far more coherent. Granted, this also means that he’s an epic pain in the ass. When I arrived this morning, the door was cracked, and on it, someone had hastily written this note:
I checked the hallways; no one else has such a sign. My father, in his overtly pretentious way, has insisted that all guests, from doctors to his own beloved daughter, provide a brief introduction before entering. I grant his request and he calls me in.
He immediately asks if I’d seen the nurse on my way to his room. I had not. He tells me that he thinks she’s, “rather slow.” I nod and present a picture that the Kaiser had drawn for him. As I pin the colorful paper to the bulletin board, aforementioned nurse enters.
Nurse in teddy bear scrubs shuffles into the room. She says nothing. We stare at her and I take the seat next to my father’s bed, still staring at her.
Nurse: How much of your breakfast and lunch did you eat today?
We stare, annoyed, at the nurse. She opens and closes a chart.
Me: As far as I know, he’s not allowed any fluids or solid food.
Me: Is that correct?
Nurse: Oh, yes. Well, I thought they might have brought a tray. Sometimes they do that. Accidentally.
I glance at my dad. He rolls his eyes.
Me: Nope. No food. No drink.
Nurse: Uhhh, is there anything I can get for you?
Dad: A fifth of whiskey.
Nurse laughs awkwardly. Mr. Atwood, uhhhh.
Nurse: No, I’m sorry.
Dad: How ’bout some weed?
Nurse laughs awkwardly and backs out of the room. I grin and my father winks at me.
Dad: Next time, she’ll read the goddamn sign.