But don't call 9-1-1 just yet!

Dear You,

Every time I wind up in the hospital, and despite any pain that otherwise confuses my thinking, I remember to ask for one of those little pressurized containers of shaving cream.

These come with the plastic razor, the thin washcloth, the little bar of soap and the breakable comb, in a pink plastic tub that fits into the rollaway tray-table that also holds the get-well-soon flowers and ice water with the bendable straw. I make nice with the nurse after I hide the first can - it's about the size of an inhaler, so it can go unnoticed even in a pajama pocket! - and I request another. They have hundreds of the things, I figure, so I don't consider this larceny.

With luck, I am released back into the world with at least two - sometimes more! - of them. Back at home, my shaving needs are met with the big red and black can of Gillette Foamy I keep under the sink. This is just not suitable when I am Away.

In my toilet kit, everything is small and travel-sized: comb, toothpaste, anti-perspirant . . . all available in the supermarket or drugstore. And thanks to Rochester General, so is my shaving cream.