The Gordion Knot

The clock read 3:45.  

It hung above the bathroom door directly opposite my bed and was enshrouded in the darkness of the hospital room’s overnight light.  It was all I could see from my prone position on the unrelentingly sweltering bed.

I was fevered, perspiring.  I tried to shed my gown to get some relief, but my arms and legs were attached to monitors which were threaded through the gown.  After minutes, which seemed like hours, I managed to get the gown off.

There I lay, naked, perspiring, hot and not able to move in a human Gordian knot of plastic tubes, wires, belts and garment.  I looked up at the clock.

It read 3:45.