Naked Day at Columbia (guaranteed at least 97% true!)

Things were rolling along swimmingly in my private room. Dr.Preger, one of about 150 pulmonologists ostensibly contributing to my care (and then billing Oxford...I'm sure they were thrilled), was so pleased with my progress that he wanted to take out the trach. That scared me a little; I hadn't tried to breathe on my own in weeks. One of the nurses decided to give me ativan (a fast acting anti-anxiety medication, similar to valium). I don't know how much she gave me, but my guess is it must have been a lot. I don't remember any of what follows; the details were culled from a conversation with someone who was there. Anyway, apparently there was something wrong with the thermostat in my room, and the temperature kept climbing. According to the eyewitness, the ativan had thrown me into something similar to a "drunken stupor". In my delirium I must have thought I was in the Mojave at noon. All I was wearing was my hospital gown. I proceeded to kick off my covers and take off the gown. The nurse put it back on, admonishing me to behave. I took it off again. She called for back-up. Soon there was a fairly good sized audience for the show: nurses and doctors circling the bed, four visitors who shall remain nameless, and the maintainance guys working on the thermostat. They finally just balled the gown up so that it covered what they most wanted to be covered. I don't have too many details beyond that. By conjecture I assume the thermostat got fixed eventually. I also found several of the nurses' phone numbers tucked neatly under my pillow.