The hospital room was quite cool and they didn’t seem to have enough blankets for some reason.  Down in the E.R. they’d brought me a heated blanket, which was delightful.  But once I checked in, put on a hospital gown, began shivering, the nurse told me they had to look for a blanket for me.  Meanwhile she covered me with several sheets, which almost did the trick.

A couple of hours later a guy came in to wheel me to the room where they do the stress test.  I told him I wanted to grab my pants, since I was cold.  He assured me I wouldn’t need pants.  

As we rolled I told him I wouldn’t need them if I was getting right on a treadmill to start running.  He smiled, doing his only job, pushing the patient in the wheelchair.  I noted idly that he had pants, and so did everyone else we passed in the chilly  corridors on the way to the echo room.

In the refrigerated suite where they do the stress test, I was the only person without pants.  I asked a worker there if he could get me some pants.  I pointed out that everyone else had pants and that’s probably why nobody else was particularly cold.  He assured me he’d find me some pants, then twenty minutes or so passed and I still had no pants.

“I’ll be right back,” I announced, getting out of my wheelchair, “I’m going back to my room to get my pants.”  

The original pants promiser called out that he’d bring me pants, and a few moments later came back with a pair of blue cotton hospital pants with a drawstring at the waist.   Perfect, thank you.  

I felt much better having pants.  Something as simple as a pair of fucking pants sometimes can make all the difference, if you know what I’m saying.  

Four or five hours later, when my twenty minute stress test was finally complete, I called out as I was being wheeled away “and thank you for the pants.”  The man who brought them to me smiled, the circle of small kindnesses now complete.