I spent eight days in the hospital. This was back when they took care of you instead of sending you home with a band aid and a piece of paper telling you what to do in case you hemorrhage. I was enjoying torturing Miss Manners. She complained about everything and everyone. We shared a TV. She was confused when all the people on the screen had full sets of teeth. She HATED people coming to see me. I was getting flowers and gifts and food. People brought me yummy restaurant food. She ate hospital food. She commented on every person who came to see me. Bart was "too short". "I like that taller cowboy better". "I'll tell him you're interested", I said. She was talking about a good friend who suddenly was deciding that he was in love with the poor girl in this hospital bed. REALLY? Something about not being able to get pregnant seemed to be like an aphrodisiac. MEN. They are NUTS. Miss Manner complained about people smoking in the room. This was when smoking was not yet the pariah it is now and an ashtray was part of the hospital room unless you had oxygen. The last night I was there I stayed up all night smoking and blowing in her direction with the TV on. This poor woman was the center of my anger for now.
Then I started thinking. I am 28, almost 29, I have no job, no money, no hope of a family, no insurance and lots of medical bills coming. This all equaled moving back to my parents. NO, that is death. I needed to sell something of value to get through my six to eight weeks recovery time. I had two things of value. My guitar and my P.A. system. I needed both to earn money singing if that was ever going to happen. SHIT. I had to sell the P.A. I knew exactly one person who would want it and could pay cash, today. That was Elsie.
Time to grovel. I decided to call him before I left the hospital. I prayed some woman didn't answer his phone. Whew, it was him. "I guess I need to grovel before I tell you why I called". "No, you don't", he said. "I am glad you called". "You OK?", he asked. "No." I explained my problem. I really needed money and I would make him a good deal on the P.A. "Let me think about it", he said, "I want it but I don't want to take it from you". "Can I call you". "Yes, I will be at my parent's while I recover. I can't drive for six weeks." He said how sorry he was and that he would call in the next couple of days but I could pretty much count on him taking the P.A.
That was some what of a relief. He was nice and I didn't cry. He didn't mention DOG and I didn't either.
Time to go back to my parent's and be miserable. Dad loaded his car with all my stuff. Mom took me home in her car. She asked if I wanted to stop by my house. "No, I can't even get in the house because of the steps", I have all the nightgowns I need and that's all I can wear". "I thought you might want something else". What on earth was she talking about. She has lost it. "Maybe you might want to have some....marijuana at home. Don't tell your Dad".
Pollyanna had turned cool. I think she may have actually wanted to smoke a little herself. "I'll ask Zelda to bring me some, she will be over later". I giggled. That was the last thing I would expect from Dawhty Glen. "Don't tell your dad" she added again. "Our secret".
Well, the afternoons would be better anyway. On to my new life as a menopausal, burning up, angry woman.
I was just about to find something I had a talent for. I would soon be working inside a Fortune 500 Company. They really had no clue what they were doing. That's OK, I'm going to make it better.
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