in which escapee learns things. SHE DIDN'T WANT LEARN ANY OF THEM, but you can skip past the orange kadoodle to learn them along with her.
1. When they give you pain medication at the hospital, what they want is something that will keep you quiet and in your bed until you're ready for discharge.
It works very well for that. It works very badly for anything else.
2. You take the Percocet and within, oh, fifteen minutes, your entire intellect has gone off to areas unknown, and if you already post-concussion syndrome, you're outta luck.
You spend your night wearing out poor Rose the Technician swiveling you out of bed and onto the commode, and back again.
3. They let you go home the next day, and you spend the weekend getting off the Perocet and onto normal Tylenol. Seems to go awfully slowly.
Not to mention the "I don't want anything to eat" part.
4. But on Monday you rise and go see the surgeon, who takes the horrible braces out of your nose and sends you home, where you eat a nice lunch of jello, and fifteen minutes later you find yourself face-down on the floor in a pool of blood screaming. Don't ask me what happened. I don't know.
All I know is that nose is all broken to pieces again. I see the surgeon tomorrow.