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He settled for a quiz show, quickly deciding that the participants had been chosen not for their potential ability to call forth trivia but rather on their ability to jump up and down, shrieking with joy, when they were awarded a lifetime supply of acne medication.

His calf began to feel prickly, as if it had fallen asleep, and it seemed to him he could feel blood pumping through it.

The door opened and a handsome young man with long blond hair entered, bearing a floral display.

“Where do you want this, buddy?”

“On that dresser, I suppose.”

The handsome young man jerked the card free from the display and tossed it onto the bed and left.

The card read, “Best Wishes for a Speedy Recovery. Fraternal Order of Police.”

Officer Payne was surprised at how much the gesture touched him.

There was no question about it now, he could feel the beating of his heart in his calf.

The moron on television, even though he had eagerly pushed the I-know-the-answer button, erroneously located Casablanca in Tunisia, the you-goofed fog horn sounded, and the moron’s face registered as much sorrow as if his mother had just been run over by a truck.

The door opened again, to another florist’s delivery man, this one bearing two floral displays. One of the cards read, “Mother, Dad, & House Apes.” The second, “Charley & Margaret.”

He was aware that he had audibly let his breath out, and then that it was more than that; he had moaned. Every time his heart made his leg throb, it hurt.

Well, why am I surprised? They told me it would start to hurt.

With some effort, (the device, at the end of an electrical cord, had fallen off the back of the bed when he had raised it) he found the button to summon the nurse.

A minute or so later, the door opened, but it was not an angel of mercy with the wherewithal to deaden his pain, but another delivery person, this one female, fat, and bearing an expensively wrapped package.

“You’re the one who got shot, aren’t you?” she greeted him. “I seen it in the newspaper.”

Whoopee! Ring the you-got-it-right! siren. You have just won a year’s supply of Acne Free!

“I guess I am.”

The package contained a pound of Barricini assorted chocolates and a copy of Art Buchwald’s latest book. The card read, “Ask the nurse to explain the big words to you. Amy.”

Jesus Christ, I hurt! Where the hell is that goddamn nurse?

The nurse’s head appeared in the partially opened door. A new one. This one was blond, and had intelligent hazel eyes in a very attractive face.

“Is there a problem?” she asked.

Nice voice. Deep. Soft. I wonder what the rest of her looks like?

“Actually, there are two.”

“Oh?”

“I hurt.”

“And?”

“Nature calls.”

“Bowels or bladder?”

“Bladder,” he said, and then reconsidered. “Probably both.”