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Bloody Wednesdays !

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Written by Murray Brown

Friday, 30 March 2007

Well the big day had finally arrived. Almost three months had passed since my sky-diving adventure and ‘Those who know’ had decided it was time for me to go home. They tried to give the impression that I was well down the path to recovery but I knew that my medical insurance was about all done and it would be hard to get anything from the outfit that had put me in hospital in the first place. I had received one visit from that bastard instructor but he left in a hurry when I managed to throw the phone at his head as I screamed abuse and accusations of attempted murder at the top of my voice. One lousy bag of cheap grapes did not constitute restitution in my view and I had major intentions of extracting revenge and recompense from him and his evil cronies when I was fit again. Call themselves a sky-diving school and instructors!  I hadn’t enjoyed my hospitalisation. It had been months since I’d had a *** and I had only managed a couple of cans of beer in all that time. My skin was starting to crack with dryness and I hadn’t had a really good cough for what seemed like forever. It was a wonder I wasn’t so choked up I couldn’t breathe but I fully intended to remedy both situations as soon as I was FREE!  My wife wasn’t coming to pick me up as apparently she had a very important bridge game after her golf game and she would see me at home sometime – don’t wait up. And anyway with the way traffic was in town it was easier for me to get a taxi. So much for spousal devotion, the *****. When I was fit again I would deal with her as well. Seven visits in three months doesn’t really cut it. Wednesdays were not a good day in hospital as the whole place seemed to be involved in meetings and other crap to the detriment of the patients. Still, I suppose, paperwork and policy do not sort themselves out. As a consequence by the time all the discharge paperwork was done it was afternoon by the time I was ready to go. An orderly arrived with a wheel chair and helped me aboard. It wasn’t too comfortable with one leg in plaster to my upper thigh and the other one tightly bandaged from toe to knee. One arm was in full plaster to almost my shoulder and I had strapping round my chest. Ready to go home my arse! I thought I knew what pain was until the orderly swung me round to head out and accidentally jammed my leg on the corner of the bed. My piercing scream of agony and the fact that I was nearly thrown from the chair alerted him to his mistake and he quickly dragged me back into place.  I knew he was truly sorry because he kept telling me so and he did volunteer to find a towel to wipe my sweaty face, a somewhat typical reaction to pain, nowadays. Too terrified to accept and give him another chance at me I refused and demanded to be wheeled outside. The trip through to sets of swinging doors and a ride down in a lift had me right on the edge of panic but nothing further happened. I think they are only allowed one crack at you and if they fail, so be it. When we got outside the orderly claimed it was his knock-off time and anyway he had an important staff meeting and he had to go. Lying bastard, he was just pissed off that he hadn’t properly got me with his one shot. I’d get him too when I was fit again. With my bag and baggage heaped beside me I was left sitting, immobile, in a wheelchair outside in the wind with not a taxi in sight. God it was cold but good after not smelling or tasting fresh air for so long and I figured, quite happily, that I would probably get pneumonia and die right there just outside the hospital. Serve the pricks right for kicking me out before I was ready.  Finally a taxi appeared and I managed to attract his attention. He pulled up, reached over and opened the rear door, gesturing for me to get in. Lazy bastard didn’t seem to have any intention of helping me. I managed to drag myself to the car and pull myself aboard. “Move your lazy fat arse and get my bags aboard” I ordered and he just looked at me blankly. Just my luck, he couldn’t speak English. I pointed to my gear and shook my fist at him and with a great sigh of ‘hard-done-by’ he dragged himself out and hurled them in the trunk. Meanwhile I managed to fold up the wheel char and drag it in beside me, scratching the paint quite badly as I did so. I couldn’t have cared less and the fact that I was appropriating the chair didn’t bother me either. It seemed like my conscience had been knocked out of me with the rest of the stuffing in my hard landing.  After a long argumentative discussion I finally managed to get the message across as to where I wanted to go. We pulled out of the hospital car park like a Formula One car leaving the starting grid. The howl of highly stressed tyres signalled the beginning of the most hair-raising and downright terrifying ride of my life. Naturally the seat belts in the rear were non-existent, probably removed for selling, and, as a result, I was thrown from side to side as the lunatic driver threw us into one High G turn after another. Most of the time I had my eyes clenched shut and a primeval scream of pure fear wailed almost non-stop from deep inside me. Every time I opened my eyes we seemed to be missing other vehicles by margins that were impossible so I quickly learned to keep them shut.  Finally after hours and hours we came to a halt and when I summoned the nerve to have a look at what was happening I discovered to my amazement that we were actually, and remarkably, parked outside my house. I began to breathe normally again, having been hyper-ventilating for some time, and managed to get my door open. I was desperate to get out of this death-trap and I didn’t care whether I managed to get myself into the wheel chair or just fall on the ground. With the same disregard for the paintwork I shoved the chair outside, flipped it open and virtually fell into it. FREE! I gestured to the driver to get my bags but he just shook his head and indicated that I should get them myself. Bugger that! I got out my wallet, removed some notes, waved them at him and then wheeled myself towards the front door. He quickly got the message that if he wanted paid he better get my bags. Even from the distance I was now away from him I could hear him cursing in the language of whatever country he came from but he did bring my gear to the front door. I paid him and he left, almost running, seemingly not aware that I hadn’t bothered tipping him. His door made a vicious sound as he slammed it shut and he definitely didn’t do our driveway any good at all as he spun his wheels in a fit of childish rage. I memorised his licence plate vowing revenge when I was fit again.   It was now that I realised that I desperately need to take a piss but when I tried to open the door I discovered it was locked. We kept a key on a ledge by the window and when I managed to drag myself to my feet and stretch for it I found to my horror that it was not there. The silly cow had obviously used it and forgotten to put it back. I’d bloody fix her! When I was fit again.  Desperate by now I managed to stumble to a large bush and, partially hidden by this, I eased the pressure in a torrent that was almost orgasmic in its pleasure. It’s sad when the best thing that happens to you all day is urinating. I fell back into my wheelchair and returned to the small porch over the front door, praying that the bloody bridge game wouldn’t go on all night. Just to make my day perfect it began to rain and I felt like crying as I screamed my rage and frustration into the slowly darkening sky. And that’s why Wednesdays aren’t on my popularity list either. Copyright 2007 Murray Brown {moscomment}

Last Updated ( Monday, 02 April 2007 )

 

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