I spent most of yesterday afternoon drinking Sangria and watching TrueLife over at Zoe's, until I got a text from Andy alerting me that he was in the hospital.
Hospital!?!?! Oh my god.
He wanted me to bust him out and/or bring him 7up. So I raced out of Zoe's, across the street to Wallgreens and across town to Kaiser, where a lovely security guard walked me all the way to Andy's door.
And there he lay, all groggy with gowns and tubes and pee receptacles. Oh Andy!
Turns out, our boy has some kind of funky stomach virus and is not in danger of immediate death. On the upside, he's incredibly thin and thinks he looks really hot.
Visiting hours ended at 8, so I settled in, reading to him from the National Enquirer I'd purchased along with every 7up in Wallgreens.
This being Kaiser, Andy is of course sharing a room. Earlier, it had apparently been Mr. Huang with a dramatically bloody nose and a nurse that told him he might be a diabetic. But he'd been discharged and an elderly Russian man had immediately moved into Mr. Huang's bed. His family was visiting him and Andy and I would occasionally pause in our reading of "David Copperfield's Sex Attack" to eavesdrop on them.
Then we heard it.
Andy started laughing, leaned forward and whispered, "Did those bitches bring a fucking dog into my hospital room?"
Indeed they had. Which we confirmed when I began giving Andy the Enquirer's TV quiz. All of a sudden, from behind the thin hospital curtain, "Are you talking about The Bold and the Beautiful?"
Andy and I looked at each other. "Um, we're taking the Enquirer TV quiz."
A middle-aged woman with a gold handbag emerged from behind the curtain, holding a tiny pug puppy in her arms.
"Bold is MY show!"
Of course it is. We were forced to pet "Borris" before she finally went back to HER side of the curtain. Andy had to pee and there was no way in hell I was going to watch him relieve himself in a goddamn jar, so I went into the hallway.
Where I found a completely naked old man with a cast up to his knee.
Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god. What the fuck is going on?
A nurse came walking up with a hospital gown, which she casually threw over his shoulders. "Phillip, are you wandering around again?"
The nurse, who turned out to be Leanne and eventually our favorite, looked over at me and mouthed, "Sorry."
Andy'd finished peeing at this point and I sat back in my chair, throwing my feet up on his bed. "Dude, guess what I saw in the hallway."
"The guy with the cast?"
Ah, Andy. We watched Pirates of the Caribbean after Bold Beautiful Borris and company departed, listening to it via a remote/speaker combination attached to Andy's bed. Finally, Andy couldn't take it anymore.
"I need a fucking cigarette."
He was serious. So serious, he disconnected his IV, threw on jeans and a sweatshirt, kept in a plastic bag across the room.
"Andy, you can't go outside."
"Fuck I can't. People sit in wheelchairs and oxygen tanks out there, smoking like chimneys."
He had a point.
So just before visiting hours ended, Andy and I tiptoed down the hallway, past the nurse's station and outside, careful to hide the IV thing still attached to the top of his hand under his sweatshirt.
"Jesus Christ, we're going to get arrested."
"For a cigarette? I doubt it." Andy said. Then he looked at my handbag. "But you might get in trouble for stealing all of those purple latex gloves."
Get well soon, girl...