Manis, Pedis, Tyra and Disposable Underwear

At 3 am, my nurse woke me up to go pee. No, seriously. She wanted me to empty my bladder so that my uterus would calm down a little. So instead of allowing my body to naturally wake itself up if I really had to pee, she did it for me. Thank you for that.

Fortunately, the later morning much improved when my mani/pedi technician arrived just after 10 am! She was a large Serbian woman named Barbie. I note the irony. But for a solid 2+ hours, Barbie was my best friend. Armed with enough gear to build a salon in my hospital room, she set me up like a queen, massaging, moisturizing and polishing like her life depended on it. And when all was said and done and I asked her how much I owed, she confirmed that it had been covered already - by the fantastic new connection we made who set the whole thing up. God bless you, Melissa.

I pranced around all day displaying my hands and feet to anyone who'd look. And when I say I "pranced around," I mean I laid in my bed twinkling my toes.

Meanwhile, I didn't want to do anything to mess up my nails. So I watched a lot of TV, including an episode of Tyra about open marriages. To be clear - despite their talk of themselves as people with "open hearts," "the capacity to love many" and "powerful emotional energy," they are still just hos. Having long hair and wearing vintage scarves doesn't change that fact. Quote of the show, in response to a question about sexuality: "I am pretty straight." Yes, and apparently, also only "pretty married."

Meanwhile, because I have little in terms of material goods to appreciate in the hospital, I've become a huge fan of disposable hospital underwear (which, frighteningly, seems to be sold online to consumers who don't want to do laundry). That's right. I'm not afraid to talk about it. I mean, it's not like I can wear anything cute in here, so I have to make do. And believe me, if you'd spent 3 days sleeping bare-assed on a plastic sheet, you too would be excited when the nurses showed up with underwear in a bag.

The problem is, I think I'm not the only one around here excited about this precious commodity. They're doled out like bread in old Russia, and I'm beginning to think I need to grease the palms of the nurses to get an ample supply. Because I'm pretty sure they're being pilfered from my room and distributed to other patients on the black market.

Tonight, I convinced a nurse to give me an extra supply - 4 packs. That's 8 pairs of underwear. When she left, Brad hid them. Tomorrow, I'll ask a different nurse for an extra supply - and the cycle shall continue until I've cornered the Mount Sinai market.

Wish me luck.