Hippa Laws Bah Humbug

David (yes, his real name and he should know because the nurses come around frequently reading from our arm bracelets printed with name and birthday and asking if it is still true) lives in the lead-lined room at the end of the hall. No body can touch him. When his wife comes to see him, she sits outside the lead shield that bars the door and visits from a folding chair against the farthest-away-from-David's door wall in the hall, as far away as a body can sit and still be inside the building. Pregnant nurses aren't allowed to tend. David isn't allowed out.

I couldn't sleep last night. Went walking about 3:00 a.m. and wondered if David was up and would call out in his cheery Brit voice, "And, how are you dear?" In his darkened room, David was sitting on the side of his bed, David asked just that. "And, how are you dear?" "I can't sleep," I admitted. "Chemo is no walk in the park," he replied. "How 'bout you?" I asked. David cursed his headache. "Did you call the nurse?" "She hasn't come," he replied.

From my perspective, it is possible that David was hurting so much that he may not have known if he had called for help or not.

I walked to the front desk and made my report for David. Then, I was able to sleep.