And at that point those clean young men in the white coats will wrap Beck up and cart her off to the rubber Ramada…
Yep. Those clean young men in white lab coats scare me. :eek:
Jeez, Bekkers, you’re not dead yet!
The clean young men in white lab coats come near you, reach out, pat a butt or two, and say, “You’re cute, Honey, you part of my therapy?”
~VOW
Food for thought
I’m increasingly thinking about food.
I had a phone call. This person was talking about pork loin, corned beef, pork spare ribs.
Cruelty, I tells you, just cruelty. 
I just got back from my rambling around. The Nurse told me to stay on this floor. She said it would be safer. I’m wondering what is unsafe on other floors? Other than germs, that is.
I told her I was looking for a snack. She had me come around to her door and let me look in the box of treats she had. I got a pkg.of peanuts. I tried to pay her for them. She wouldn’t take it. Dang, those peanuts were good.
I looked out a window at the interstate traffic for a while.
I’ve returned to my room. Had a shower. Tried to comb out my mop of hair, with little success.
Now to watch CNN and scare the bejeebus outta myself.
b. tryin’ to not think of food!
Your pork phone call reminds me…
We were a young, broke married couple in Germany. Mr VOW was Sgt VOW then, and I was his bride. We got married at the Wayfarer’s Chapel in Palos Verdes, CA ( Google it!) And a week later we were in Germany!
He was stationed at a very small post in the Rhoen Mountains, called Wildflecken. The Post Commissary was about the size of a 7-11. The meat counter was three feet long, and featured beef.
My mother wrote about their Christmas dinner. She said she fixed a pork roast.
I cried.
Soon, I ventured to the various German markets. “Metzkerei” was the butcher. And from a German lady, I learned how to ask for pork chops: “schweine cotlett.”
~VOW
No, don’t. The hospital personnel need those to keep themselves healthy while caring for the sick.
>>>>beck’s insomnia is alive and well <<<<
Yep. No sleepytime in room 303. It’s very strange being awake in a sleeping hospital. I hear grinding noises. I think I may be next to or over a Utility room.
It’s so freaking cold in this room.
Nothing on TV. I’ve listened to nearly my whole music playlist. My crosswords have either stumped me or are done.
I can’t stand the coloring book.
I’ve read til my eyes are itchy.
I’m trying to think what I’d do at home. Oh, yeah, go to bed. :smack:
3 hours before breakfast comes? I’m hungry. I could eat a protein bar. Then I’d have to get up and refreeze. And rebrush my teeth. Not worth it. Maybe if I decide I need to pee I’ll get a bar outta my bag.
Okay I’m gonna close my eyes and pretend I’m asleep. Maybe my head will be faked out and actually fall asleep.
b. trying to fake herself out. ZzzzzzZzzzz…
Instead of counting sheep, you could count corndogs jumping over the Interstate!
~VOW
Ah, jumping corndogs. The stuff that dreams are made of.
Sunday evening going down
I’m HANGRY!
I will probably eat whatever junk they bring me. I keep smelling something goodish.
Mr.Wrekker will be here in the morning to meet with the surgeon. I’m pretty sure I will be leaving with him. I’m ready to go home. I’m needing very minimal nursing. I’m taking care of myself, my diabetes and my surgery site.
This virus is scaring me. I need to be out of here before it gets here.
I can’t imagine how crazy it is in the stores and on the street.
Cross your fingers.
b. counting down the hours.
Fingers and toes crossed!
Remember when you arrived and the food seemed great? The food probably hasn’t changed.
StG
Good luck, Beck. I know how frustrating hospital stays can be both from the inmate and spousal sides.
>>>>my last night of incarceration<<<<
I would like to wax philosophical and brilliant.
I don’t believe I’m able. Though there are deep feelings of thankfulness. I still have a bad taste in my mouth from Hilda and her henchmen (or is that the horrid food?).
I have one thing to express:
Wo0-HOo! I’m going home!!!
b. packing out her junk.