I can’t remember the first time I met my friend Sandra Bullock. If I was to guess, I would say it was in one of the many dark, paint-peeling, sick smelling corridors of our Charter Marked High School. To this day I am still unsure as to what a Charter Mark actually is. I imagine it has to be something pretty damn impressive, as not only was it written all over every letter, hand book and many of the teachers foreheads, there was also a massive banner, the size of six double Decker buses, hanging outside of the main entrance. Not only to advertise this prestigious award to those walking by but to those astronauts who inhabit the International Space Station. I may not remember the first time I met Sandra but I do recall the first time I decided she was going to become a life long friend. We were in the gymnasium of our “Charter Marked” school training for our trip to Africa. Being adolescent girls who longed for adventure and had the attention span of gnat, the current game of rounder’s didn’t seem to entertain either of us, so we decided to ascend to the top of the climbing frame and serenade those below with our very own version of the Shania Twain classic, “Man, I feel like a women”. I knew that this coupled with her extreme honesty made Miss Bullock an ideal candidate for my “crew”. Since this day, Sandra has tried many times to faze me out, including going to the extreme of travelling to the other side of the world to escape my eccentricities. She has yet to succeed and unfortunately still holds the position of being one of my closest friends. She performed this duty well by bringing me back to reality and causing me to almost wet myself yet AGAIN, during my final days of incarceration.
Day 2037459 (or what felt like) of my hospital stay began just like the others. I opened up the rucksack of clothing Demi had brought with her the previous night to change into something clean and a little fresher smelling. To my dismay, along with my favourite Idlewild hoodie, Demi had also packed a pair of silk spotty Pyjama bottoms. Now those of you who regularly spend a lot of time in bed wearing silk PJ bottoms will know two things:
1) They make your ass sweat profusely.
2) Due to your ass sweating profusely they tend to ride up and stick to your derrière like Lycra to a fat man.
I also hadn’t been able to shave my legs for over two weeks by this point due to not being able to move them. This was not a service offered by the nurses who gave me my daily scrub. This meant that when the silk PJ bottoms slid up and stuck to my sweaty ass, it revealed legs that resembled a Yeti’s. Not the sexiest of looks. After changing into my new “Extreme Tramp” look, the Physio returned to try me out on a Zimmer Frame. I know what you are thinking, not really the must have fashion accessory for Spring/Summer ’11. It would be very unlikely to see Kate Moss walking around the streets of LDN clutching a black Zimmer with a diamond encrusted skull protruding over the front. Yes, but it did mean that I no longer had to pee in the bloody commode and although it took me 40 minutes to walk the 10 feet to the bathroom, I was finally able to pee on an actual toilet again.
While I was busy day dreaming about peeing on a toilet pan; getting to lock the door behind me so no one could just pop in and ask how I was getting on, the feel of the cold porcelain toilet seat on my bare ass, being able to flush after I had urinated, I failed to notice an Adonis of a doctor enter the ward to do the daily rounds. It wasn’t until a shadow was cast over my bed and I heard him say my name that I looked up to see the hot doctor, who looked like a love child of Johnny Depp and Jake Gyllenhaal, (due to this we will now call him Deppenhaal). My first thought was “thank god these sheets are covering up my sweaty, silk PJ stuck, ass. If only I had another to put over my head and cover up my Susan Boyle hair”. At that Deppenhaal said “Well Miss McInnes I see the Physio has been in today. Why don’t you show me how your walking with the Zimmer frame is coming along? At this my heart sank. In my head I was cursing God, “Why, oh why, are you doing this to me? Did you get so sick of watching the re-runs of Friends on E4, that I have become your daily source of entertainment? Is it not enough for you that I have nearly peed myself 6 times since I have been here, that you have to humiliate me in front of this part time model/ part time doctor? ” No matter how hard I tried to pull the PJ bottoms out of my ass, by the time Deppenhaal helped me to stand up in front of the Zimmer frame the silk was once again attracted back up to the sweat fest and showing off my Yeti legs, which ironically matched the Susan Boyle hair. After Deppenhaal left, I texted Sandra Bullock to tell her about God’s cruel joke and ask her if she still thought I was in with a chance. To which she replied “In all honesty Sam, I think you lost him at the “stick to your ass PJ’s” never mind the hairy legs, Susan Boyle hair and the fact you were using a Zimmer frame”. At this I quickly gave up on the dream of marrying Deppenhaal and raising his beautiful children with unruly locks of hair and laughed so hard that I nearly added pissing myself to the “con’s” list.
That evening Posh Spice and Jack Branning came to visit, bringing with them the classic hospital game Jenga! What more do old dying people need than to have a heart attack every time someone knocks over the tower, as they think they are back World War 2 and that the Nazi’s are once again bombing their fair city. Luckily for the frail old people of the ward, when Monday came, a doctor (not Deppenhaal unfortunately) arrived to tell me that they were now sure this was an M.E flare up and as soon as the Physio returned to present me with what would be my must have accessory for Spring Summer ’11, two walking sticks, I was free to go. You know what that meant? Superman 2: The Richard Donner cut, HERE I COME!