• Meekly submit to wearing yellow bracelet that says, “Call Don’t Fall” and agree to ask for assistance to mobilize out of bed and go to the toilet. Then, on the 3 occasions in the night when no one responds to multiple calls for help, shuffle to toilet alone, dragging drain poll along.
• Get scolded for landing improperly on drain lines when returning to bed from toilet. Incidentally, the lines are not secured in the way that the neurosurgeon has requested.
• Refuse to wear hospital gown or other coverings in overheated “semi-private” room
• Refuse to wear disposable briefs that exacerbate dermatitis/eczema, thus requiring nursing staff to see your rashy bum when checking the soundness of lumbar drains
• Repeatedly request cold packs to be placed between rashy sweaty body and hot plastic mattress
• Ask nurse on last night, “When am I due for pain medications?” You want to believe the nurse, who replies with the guileless smile of Sutton Foster, “Honey, if you only rate your pain at a ‘2,’ I’m just going to give you Tylenol.”/Me: “I just want to make sure that we don’t fall behind in pain meds.” A much more dour Sutton Foster shows up an hour later with a syringe full of subcutaneous Dilautid and unceremoniously empties it into my bicep. Aaaaah.

Know that whatever you do, your polite Canadian husband will have to answer for your behaviour when he arrives in the morning. “What’s that, my wife’s refusing to wear clothes? Well, I’m not sure that qualifies as cognitive decline…”