I had seen him about an hour ago with a nurse, coming off of versed and fentanyl not long after the pacemaker implantation. He was disoriented, thought he was still in his assisted living apartment complex, and was seriously irked that he was not wearing any pants. The nurse explained to him that he was in the hospital and that he had just received a pacemaker. A friend of his was supposed to arrive later with his pants. A lightbulb must have gone off and he started apologizing profusely:
"You guys should all line up and take turns kicking me in the butt." I walked away chuckling and went back to recording vital signs.
About an hour later, my preceptor, Kate, walked into his room.
"Where are my pants?" He demanded.
Kate started to explain to him that since he was in the hospital, he needed to wear a hospital gown. I came into the room after her, hoping to reorient him and explain that he was in the hospital and pants were on the way. His nurse came walking in a minute later.
He looked up at her and exclaimed, "these two broads think I shouldn't wear pants in the hospital. But I tell you, I've been wearing pants for the past 92 years and I'm not going to stop now!"