In the end there were only the five of us hopping and stumbling into the reception of the Landers Park Hospital, where we were promptly greeted by the head nurse (who just might be the one who hatched my old drill sargeant) and told to get out of here and not return until we had aquired the common sense not to bleed all over her newly polished floor. So we did. (It is well known that I possess great courage and have once beheaded a necromancer using his own grimoire, but I will not ever gainsay that nurse).
Once that, eh, advice, was heeded, it was a first class event all the way into the surgery room, where Mr. Reality demanded my full attention for an agonizing hour. Surgery, once you realize you may survive it, is a wonderful invention. The resident surgeon, a wonderful person and honorary member of the High and Inconspicios Order of the Reformed Werepersons, replaced my leg and a few other bits and pieces none of us had noticed were missing in the rush.
I even got another eyepatch, creating a beautifully matched pair, or so I'm told.
After that little adventure, it was off to a room of my own, where a delicious bowl of gruel awaited my pleasure. Not eating anything but donkey for a few days does wonders for the taste buds! Mine refused to work at all for a fortnight, and by then I was back on solids.
The staff at Landers Park Hospital are professionals. Most are professional soldiers turned nurses, so what passes for strengthening exercises in other hospitals is what they make you perform as post-surgery warmup.
Strengthening exercises at the LPH is boot camp gone evil. My arm (one of those bits and pieces they patched up as a side-order) only needed some coordination tests, so it was the fencing salle for me the next day.
For six hours.
Using a bastardsword.
That did not work out too well until I figured out I could listen for my opponents plate mail -apparently he was to be released a day or two later, so it's a bit of bad luck the medical steel rod down his spine made it difficult to duck.
That evening was spent at the restaurant, where the view of the park is every bit as good as they say! We had a lot of good laughs as the newbies passed by on their way through the beginner obstacle course. I would never have believed anyone telling me about the sights we saw that evening, as no one in their right mind would do what some of the passing (in every sense of the word) heroes seemed to consider 'the right thing to do'.
Imagine a full grown, bestudded adult with a beer-enhanced lower torso trying to do the slither'n'crawl with his blunted pike tangling itself at every opportunity. I swear it looked like a baby elephant being towed upside down by the trunk! Or the young gal who seemed to be determined to eradicate pines as a species or die trying. No wussy stalking quietly around the trees, oh no! Bash your way through with wild swings of the wooden practice rapier, that's the way to earn a name for yourself! My guess is the name will be 'Hey! Stupid!', but if she's happy, I'm happy...
The next day I was fully occupied at the optrician, getting my eyes fixed. Apparently, the hefty insurance fee we pay is not greed at all, but standard charge for the Golden Premium Health Insurance. That's where they promise to fix anything but multidimensional corporealism. (Don't ask me what that is, but it sounded pretty gory). Anyway, what they did was removing my eyepatches, sigh and grumble a bit, and then I had this vision of angels coming to welcome me to their party. Needless to say, I was annoyed when the optrician apologized for the mistake and sent my visual range into far ultraviolet instead. That's where you see the, um, not-angels. Who obviously wanted me at the party too. Fat chance! That lot looked far too eager and starved. Eventually the oopstrician got his act together and put my visuals back in order again. Gawd, but he was ugly! Definitely not a sigth for sore eyes such as mine, though he beats the not-angels almost hands down. His nurse was quite another matter, and my bedside manners were still in good enough shape that I got away without bloodshed. Who in their right mind hires a Drow healer?
Still, after a couple of weeks recuperation we paid another hefty insurance fee, got re-equipped at the Shoppe and returned for that dragons toy collection. I know just the right man to help me find a solid buyer for some of those baubles! They'll release me from my bed any day now, and then it's just a matter of strengthening exercices and finding someone with a dictionary so's I can figure out this new Insurance policy.