After moving to another room, this one fully private (at least in theory), I was introduced to my next-door neighbor. Not that you generally meet your neighbors in the hospital, but Jerry, a semi-lucid man in his 70s, had a habit of wandering wherever and saying whatever, and the nursing staff weren't big on keeping him wrangled 24/7.
Jerry wasn't a bad guy; he was a load of laughs, actually, but he suffered a weird kind of asshole lycanthropy whereby, once the sun went down, he didn't turn into a werewolf so much as an unpredictable douche. You just couldn't tell if he'd answer a hello with a friendly, "Hi," or a more colorful, "Up yours, shithead." It seemed like he had a habit of quickly forgetting his rudeness as well and would return to pleasant, friendly Jerry just as quickly as he'd gone Mr. Hyde on you.
It was my first night in the room, around 3 a.m., when the hallway door opened. A faint shuffling sound woke me up. Shuffle shuffle shuffle. I raised my head, peering into the darkness. If it was a nurse, surely they would have turned on a light and entered swiftly; they're pretty busy people. It came again -- shuffle shuffle shuffle. I froze, confused and terrified. And then the unmistakable sound of piss hitting a toilet filled my ears. I was being victimized by a night pisser.
Moments later, I heard the sound of Jerry muttering what I believe was, "Wherezat fuckin' toilet hole?" and then shuffling back out of the room preceding my calling in a nurse to make sure I wasn't about to be raped by an elderly man with dementia. As it happened, the nurses were aware of Jerry's penchant for wandering but were OK with it because, aside from the odd bout of foul language, he was pretty much harmless to everyone and was easily bribed with ice cream. We were a lot alike.
Other than all that, my hospital stay was fairly normal.
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