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"Ethel, Ethel, what am I going to do with you?"
I asked out loud to no one in the room but her. "Well, first we have to get you out of that soiled hospital
gown."
By stretching my legs as far as they would go I was able to straddle the puddle and reach her neck to untie the
gown. Pitching it to the side, I then unwisely decided to attempt the "one-man move the fat lady to the stretcher
maneuver." While facing her I reached under her arm pits embracing her in a giant bear hug and lifted with
all my might. Once I had her massive hips lifted from the chair I quickly lifted one leg and kicked the wheel chair
out of the way. My plan was to make one large step over the puddle and muscle her onto the clean bed. And it worked
until her sagging buttocks hit the unlocked bed, sending it rolling across the room. Now I was stuck with her suspended
over the muck.
The coup de grace was when my chair kicking foot landed right in the edge of the puddle of stool. I wasn't worried
about my shoes. But my foot started to slide ever so slowly. I tried several times to regain my footing, even finally
sacrificing any hope of saving my shoes. But nothing would stop our relentless slide to the floor. Each inch of
horizontal slippage translated directly into excruciatingly slow downward momentum. It was inevitable. Wishing
to save my hands from complete contamination, I finally pulled them from under her arms and rested them on her
shoulders for the last stage in our voyage together. When we finally came to rest, I was spread-eagled over an
obese, senile naked lady in a lake of diarrhea.
"Help," I called out softly, not wishing to draw too much attention to my predicament.
"Help," again somewhat louder. Finally in full voice, "I need some help in here!"
"Doctor Plaster is calling for help in room 12," I heard someone shout in a panicked voice. Oh no, I
thought. They think it's a code. The door flew open and Jo Ann the charge nurse just stood there frozen.
"What are you doing?" she deadpanned in disbelief.
"I was sailing on the $#!+ Sea and got marooned on Blubber Island!" I yelled. "What do you think
I was doing? Help me get off of her."
Ethel just smiled, drooled, and gave out a loud 'Arrgggh!'
As expected everyone came running up with the crash cart, stopped, saw what was going on, and then began snickering.
After my rescue and clean up the rest of the night went without hitch, except for the sailing comments.
"How big is your boat?" was the favorite. I couldn't wait to head home.
"How was your night?" my wife asked in her usual fashion.
"You don't even want to know," I said with a look that warned her not to pursue the issue.
"The toilet's not working again," she said taking the lead to move on.
"Oh, I can fix that. The plumber always charges an arm and a leg. I'll do it," I said.
"You are going to fix the toilet by yourself?" she said incredulously. "You …," she repeated
slowly.
Our eyes met in a long question. "You know," I finally said. "On second thought, he has tools I
don't have."
THE END
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