Hospitals–especially on floors where there’s no activity, for whatever reason–can be spooky places at night. Imaginations can run wild.
Take for example my trip, night before last, to the shower.
Mom’s on the fifth floor. The shower–a single, with barely room for my–ahem–not inconsiderable feminine pulchritude, shielded from the outside world only by a drab, unhappy curtain and a fortunately deadbolted door–is on the fourth.
The lovely lady who watches over the fifth floor waiting room, where I’ve slept five of the last six nights, guided me down to that little room. Alas, I was suffering from little sleep, I didn’t have my glasses on, and we had to return to the fifth floor to fetch soap and shampoo.
Alone, I bravely returned to the fourth. And was immediately lost in a maze of hallways. And bizarre imaginings.
What if I were to run up on–gulp–Freddy Krueger????
Well, without my glasses, I wouldn’t really be able to see him–a nicety which would not stop him from slitting my throat with a smart remark. Freddy always was kind of a smartass. 😉
Then I looked at my reflection in one of the darkened windows.
I could swear I see a hockey mask over my shoulder.
And I’m lost, mind, in this maze of hallways.
I comfort myself with the thought that I might be able to outrun a slasher, because–frabjous day! Calloo, callay, she chortled in her joy–I’m wearing sneakers!!! I may move rather more slowly than an oldtime Sherman tank, but I’m not hampered by high heels.
And I’m still lost, sneakers or not.
At last I meet someone I think, perhaps, I can trust–a male–Huh. I think, by his navy scrubs, he must be one of the respiratory therapists. Nice man, doesn’t seem threatening or strange at all, and he leads me around until we part, with mutual good cheer, at the door to the shower room.
And, secure behind the deadbolted door, I suddenly wonder:
what would he look like in his mama’s clothes?
There was not enough hot water to entice me to stay in the shower any longer than strictly necessary to clean off–good God, how many days? The first thing to go during a longterm hospital stay is one’s sense of time.
At least, when, clean (but hair still unwashed–I really don’t like to shampoo in chilly water) and clothed, I venture back out from behind that deadbolted door, I’m able to get back to the elevators and ride in solo comfort and ease back up to the waiting room.
And I conclude the slashers must be as danged lost as I was. 😉 😀
PS Will update Mom’s condition later in the day at FB. Holding her own, but we’re still not out of the woods. Love & hugs to all & thanks for your prayers and good thoughts–