I'm back! I've been to the land of Illness. Was there nearly as long as the land of Uganda. Quite simply I'm glad to be home.

There is an interesting thing about the Land of Illness. It goes by another name: the land of NOT TELLING.

You know what I mean, when wearing those lovely little gowns and no one tells when a peak here or there happens.

For instance:

The sweet old man making regular trips past my open door to get to the washroom...

His back never tied together, with cute little undies and butt for all the world to see

But shhh, no one is telling!

The day he came out of the washroom with his gown tucked nicely up and into the front of his undies

Shhh, no one is telling

And the skinny gal who sported a thin line of skin from shoulder to leg each and every time I saw her

No one is telling

It is an interesting thing to sit around in not much more than a sheet day after day. Doors open, man for a room-mate, people coming and going back and forth through the halls... (in the actual hall for two days no less)...

and it all matters not one whit!

I suppose it's because much more pressing matters are at hand, we are all simply trying to get well.

And because somehow the rules change in hospitals (akin to campsites I suspect). And while it may be strange enough for us gals to be wearing gowns, imagine how strange for the men.

We are all in the same boat, smiling our little smiles at the cracks of skin here and there, and hoping to God we aren't showing any of our own.

My own confidence, which had reached an all-time high with my sheet-made-gown was put to the test one day when rounding my bed to unplug my IV machine, discovered what threatened to be my own thin (or not so thin) line of skin from shoulder to leg...

Aghast! my ties had undone themselves and were not even attached...

I rushed to make it right

How much flesh I'd shown I'll never know

For my room-mate, a regal, wise old man,

...He'll never tell