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Show 141 But, I am thinking, maybe they explored the area only to find the catheter intact and simply sewed me back up, and with that thought my feelings are once again in the same pale and indistinguishable disarray in which they were embroiled the weeks before the surgery. It is difficult to balance expressing the coming knowledge of my own body and its disease with the possibility of alienating those medical experts caring for me. Lisa enters my room and her presence assures me that I am not in a four-diamond hotel suite after all, but still in the hospital. "How do you like your new digs?" she is asking, smirking. "Nice," I reply. "What is this?" "This," she is gesturing like a tour guide in a museum, "is the V.I.P. room." I am stunned. Less stunned because I am currently residing in this room reserved for "Very Important Persons" because I am sure now that I am here by mistake or default; more stunned because I do not understand why a hospital funded by taxpayer money would have such a room. Lisa notices my raised eyebrows and clarifies. "Your old room was taken by an emergency admission," she is telling me and before I can get out my next question, she adds, "This room was donated by someone wealthy." |