Early next morning, I was awakened by the nurse and two porters. In hospital, everything happens early, especially death. I said to her,
“Kicking me out, I hope.”
She gave me that Irish look that translates simply as
“Ah, shut up.”
She said,
“You’re being moved.”
Get this—
To a private room.
Yeah, f**k.
When people are being left on trolleys for days on end, and there is barely standing room for most, a private room is unbelievable. They got me up there and when I was settled in the bed, the nurse said, not in admiration but with malice,
“You must have powerful friends.”
I said, half meaning it,
“I’ll give it to somebody who really needs it.”
She considered that, then,
“You might just do that but this hospital runs on paper, administration, and once it’s written down, bad or
