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Show 325 whose children are doing what, where: She pauses in her telling to look at my arm. Even with the bandage, I can see that it is misshapen, appearing to me as if it belongs to someone else, yet somehow still laying next to me in this bed. I cannot move much because ofthe elevated position required of my arm and I am trying to kick the blankets from off my sweating body with my bent legs. "That hot?" Flo is asking, folding the disheveled blankets neatly down onto the foot ofthe bed. "Yeah," I respond. It is not enough. Because ofthe immodesty the generalized spasming potentially incurs, I always wear hospital pajama bottoms or sometimes surgeon's scrubs and I am now wishing that I could cuff them up above my knees. That would require two capable hands. "I'll do you one better," Flo states, pulling her scissors out of her smock pocket. From my position flat on my back I can hear snipping and after a minute I feel her pulling what once was the lower part ofthe pajama leg down my leg and over my foot. My leg is bare from the knee down. She proceeds to the other pants leg, cutting it off as well. I begin to laugh. It hurts everywhere to laugh but I am laughing anyway, laughing at the absurdity of staph and porta-caths and grafts and Flo attacking my pajamas with a pah of scissors. It is all nonsensical and absurd and it all deserves the good laugh I am allowing it. |