“Any gas?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Okay, you’re looking good but we’re hoping for some movement soon. You’ve been using your pain button?”
Try to resist the sleepy euphoric numbness, slows the stomach, feel and listen, hear her worry, don’t want an NG tube.

“Have been trying to hold off to help get things moving.”

“Do you want to try to sit on the toilet?”

Scrunched brows and pursed lips, concern in her face.

“Okay.”

“No rush.”

Sat up and gathered myself, she unplugged me, moved my table and helped me wheel over, door shut, sit down, relax and give a push nnnnngh but knot still tied tight, close eyes. One more push, nnnothing. Wash hands, splash face, gaunt cheeks in the mirror. Retie robe, and back out.

“Anything?”

Shake.

“That’s okay, maybe you wanna go for a walk?”

Nod. She helped me roll the IV pole out into the hall, “you’re doing great,” step by step past the administrator desk, answering phone and managing computers with patient data, peer through doorways at other rooms, see their feet upright at the end of the bed, family member talking to a doctor, keep walking, “oops, one sec,” she retied my gown at the back, “just trying to maintain modesty here,” smile, “keep going, let’s just try to do this one lap okay?” knees good but core angg  hunch further, “you okay?” “mhmm,” looking down at one grippy sock in front of the other click stagger she catches me, lean for support and regain balance, step by step to…  complete the loop back to my room.

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