The best part about the hospital is the crazy neighbors. And the morphine ... hahaha. Actually, by the time I go home, I'm so sick of narcotics, I don't want to look at a Tylenol for months.
When I first got to the hospital, before my surgery, I had a big Scottish bear of a man in the bed next to me. He had a red puffy face, and his hair was falling out, so I assume he was receiving Chemo for cancer. One night, several friends came to visit him and his wife told this story.
Friend: "So is the redness on your neck from the Chemo also?"
Wife: "Oh, has Harold not told you the story? When Harold was 21, he and two friends went to a campground in Saskatchewan by a lake. Harold had to go to the bathroom, so he went into a port-a-potty and closed the door. As he sat down on the toilet, he lit up a cigarette, and the whole port-a-potty burst into flames. His pants and shirt were on fire. He burned his arm because he had to open the burning door. He ran out of the port-a-potty, up the path, over a railing, right into the lake. His friends drove him to the nearest hospital, 1 mile away, in 5 minutes."
Friend: "So what caused the fire?"
Wife: "Afterward, Harold found out that some lady had dumped kerosene into the chemical toilet, and the port-a-potty had filled with highly flammable gas."
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