Jesus and a Saline Drip

She just wouldn't shut her mouth. Every five seconds it was, "I gots Jesus. You hear me man, I gots Jesus. Bless the Lord, Jesus is coming and I'm his friend and f*ck you anyway you motherless child of God."

Over and over. Loud. She made my head hurt. She was a certified meth-head.

I was in emergency room two. The crazy drugged out woman occupied room three. I was trapped with her for over four hours. Sweet Wife kept me company.

My nice little attending nurse smiled at me and said, "She has issues."  I replied, "You think."

Sweet Wife didn't crack a smile. She was worried; she'd insisted the medics give me a thousand dollar cab ride to the world of horrors. Sweet Wife was also the reason half my chest had been dry shaved for the leads and horrible sticky attachment points, and it was her worry which lead to the saline drip. I explained this to the nurse. Nurse said, "Of course, she loves you." Like that.

I'm fine.

Yesterday, as I mentioned to Rev. Paul, I had yard work, chores, to complete. I dug a few holes, fixed a few sprinkler heads, and then trimmed hedges. Not long after Sweet Wife arrived home from church she joined me in the yard. We enjoyed typical Florida weather, hotter than Hades and very humid. Then, after I dipped to grab a handful of leaves and brush, I darn near fainted. Pain followed. I quietly excused myself and went inside.

The pain increased, then spread its insidious way across the back of my shoulders and down my arms. I took my very first self administered nitro tablet and an aspirin...took a sip of water and tried to dry my sweaty body. Then I said a silent prayer and asked the Lord to take care of my wife. Hey, I'm way of ahead of the game. If it's my time, I'll take the stairway.

She found me in the bathroom, and a few minutes later dialed 911. They gave me the long ride. I hate hospitals.

The woman in room three screamed again, and again.  I turned to the nurse, "I'm fine now, release me." She simply smiled. Sweet Wife gave me, 'The Look.'

The nurse stuck another needle in me and said, "I'm sorry. We can't release you. You must stay until the doctor sees you."

The crazy drug fueled Jesus loving democrat screamed. And screamed. And screamed. I searched my pocket for the little Old Timer knife. Found it. Hey, emergency rooms are dangerous.

Finally the doctor arrived. He was younger than my socks. Said, "Acute renal failure."

I said, "Let me out of here."

The woman screamed, "I gots Jesus oh yes I do. You hear me, bitch, I gots Jesus."

The doctor grimaced, and I'm fairly certain he wanted to suck on his thumb. I jerked a few wires from my chest and began to cut the pulse monitor from my finger. My Old Timer is very sharp.

Sweet Wife and the nurse were not amused.

From room three I heard a yell for security. Jesus had arrived and the crazy lady wanted to ride her meth high to heaven and kick ass. She yelled, "Me and Jesus gonna kick your ass motherf^ucker." I believed her...

They asked me to sign a 'against medical advice release form.' I said, "No." Then, "Well, then, we advise you have a stress test within three days." I glanced at Sweet Wife, sighed, and lied, "Sure."

Like that. Hour later I'm walking to the car.

Like I said, I hate hospitals.

Stephen