I woke up in a hospital, surrounded by men poking at my love-handles.

You are not supposed to believe though, in love-handles, if you work at a hospital. It's just fat. Just surrounding your waste.
Just providing warmth for the winter.
I let my arm fall over the side of the bed, hoping at any moment, they might raise the head-of-the-bed, so I could sit up. CAN'T MOVE. Hope they bring me a Sprite with a straw in it, hope they turn the channel on the TV to watch TLC. Need to know what not to wear.
He kneels next to the bed, one of the doctors, and they could all follow suit, but they watch to see how it plays out for him.
He asks me, respectively, on a date, on downtown to a restaurant I don't know about. So fancy. He is thinking in his mind, "She will be my lunch Ho." But doesn't say it out loud. Or maybe I am thinking the words lunch ho, because it sounds funny, even makes me laugh, even if that is not the phrase he is thinking for me. Scrunch my eyes. Maybe he is thinking girlfriend, by accident.
"I have so many boyfriends," I tell him, still thinking it'd be nice to be a lunch ho, and how long could I keep that up and still get my homework done for class each week.
He's weakened, but not deterred, because he has my chart in his hand. Could tell me anything, and I'd believe it because of dark framed glasses and Rolex watch. Could tell me brain cancer. Could tell me diabetes, which wouldn't be a big surprise.
But instead I stare out the window, thinking of Ben Dory. Racing for Teenage Mutant Ninja cereal bowls in the morning. Lucky charms mixed with cheerios. Forest Fire Fighter. First love. And the doctor coughs. Doctor Handsome I Read Books.
Doctor lock the door at night.
Doctor give me an answer.

But I am a naked hospital gown person. Can't promise anything before morning pancakes.
Can't
promise
squat.