The word “hospital” conjures up a multitude of images for all of us. For me, when I look back on the times I was in the hospital, I just have to laugh.

Several years ago, I had abdominal surgery and all sort of tubes and wires were hooked up to various parts of my body.  I discovered one very important thing … bedpans are definitely NOT fun.  I’m embarrassed to say I found myself lusting for a real porcelain toilet.  When they finally unhooked enough tubes, I was given the green light for the throne room, and I would have turned cartwheels if I could have.

I inched myself to the edge of my bed.  Then, since I’m so short, I took a deep breath and sort of slid down until my feet hit the cold floor.  I gathered all the tubes that were still hooked into me and took hold of the pushy-thing that the medicine stuff is hanging from.  I was all hunched over because I was pretty sure that if I stood up straight, my wound would tear apart.

I began the long ten-foot trek to the restroom.  Ever so slowly, I made my way across the room. With all this garbage hanging off me, it was impossible to go into the restroom frontwards, so I carefully did a 180 and sort of backed in.

Sitting down was a feat in itself.  You don’t realize how many muscles are involved until they all hurt at once.  But I was finally there.

Now, you have to remember that I was still hooked up to all this stuff, and my right hand was virtually useless.  And I’m right-handed.  I could tell already this was all going to be pretty tricky with my left hand.  I glanced around to locate the all-important toilet paper.  Nope, not on the left where my unhooked hand could reach it.  Nope, not on the right, either, where maybe I could reach across with my left hand.  Finally, I spotted it.  It was mounted behind me and to the left, at about 7 o’clock.  Only Inspector Gadget could have reached it.

I sort of twisted my arm down and under and didn’t get there.  I reached over my shoulder but failed again.  I rested.  I brainstormed.  I finally tiptoed my feet around and rotated my whole body until I was sitting sideways on the toilet.  Success at last!  I yanked at the roll, and it gave me one square.  I yanked again.  One more square.  Yank.  Yank.  Yank.  Yank.  It took a bunch of yanks because it was this thin cheap stuff that had the look and feel of transparent cardboard.  I figured for whatever they were charging me, I should probably get Charmin.  And more than one square at a time.

I complained to the hospital administrator, who was a friend of mine.  He sort of laughed it off.

Six months later I received a phone call from him. He had had a heart attack and was laid up in his own hospital.  He called to tell me I was right about the toilet paper.  After he got well, he ordered every toilet paper dispenser in the hospital changed out.

Vindication is so wonderful.