I need two turkey thermometers, please. Send to my attention at 666 Hospital Hell Dr. Hades, CA 90000.
Oh, and I need someone to jab one in each of my kidneys, if you don’t mind. I don’t. I need to see if the hospital has completely cooked them or not. They’re not sure.
And nothing makes for better eats than kidney, mashed potatoes and gravy. Yum. It’s a classic dish in hell, eating your own kidneys.
When I was shy of 216 pounds Thursday night, which meant a weight gain of over 5 pounds in one day, I should have known something was up. But when I went out for my late night joy ride of the nurse’s station, or how to walk in circles and like it, I knew I was hosed. I couldn’t make it to the end of the hallway without being short of breath.
I had transformed into the Puffy Water Boy, a cartoon character that never made it big because he fought crime and fires by peeing on both, making him a bad role model and one parents hated when they had to clean up after their kids.
I was full of water. My feet, my ankles, my calves, my chest. Is my creatinine high, Doctor? Oops, they forget to measure this week. Patient oversight – I forgot to tell them what to do.
Time for emergency measures. Who has a spigot? Stick it in my butt cheek and let’s flood the hospital gardens. We must be green at all times and I am a valuable source of H2O. Love me, hold me, tap me.
I spent Friday peeing in a measuring bottle. And pee I did. Almost 7 liters, or approximately 14 of the small Arrowhead bottles. How do I know this? Because the doctors on Saturday couldn’t hold back their admiration of my day as a racehorse. I promised to fill the trash can for them as my next trick. Get your tickets now. Standing room only. Puffy Water Boy promises to put on the urinary extravaganza of a lifetime.
They scanned my kidneys today, and I’m supposed to go home tomorrow. But the hospital, she’s crying and doesn’t want me to leave. And she’s doing everything to keep me here. Who knows what the latest test will reveal? So, I’ll believe it when I’m in my car and driving home. I wouldn’t be surprised if a piece of parking garage concrete breaks off and crushes me to death.
Would I be upset if it did? Not really. Make it quick, please. I don’t want to spend another day of my life in this place.