Someone escorts me to set, because, did I mention, you can hardly see anything from inside bunnyhead. The whole outfit is like a man on moon spacesuit, on which big, clear face bubble has been spray painted almost completely over by mischievous aliens. You can see straight ahead through two big eyeholes, but there’s a sort of black fog over everything because you’re looking through mesh. There’s a surreal quality to it, children waving, bunny smiling, as volcanic ash slowly falls from Mount St. Helens. Later. At set. Waving, dancing, holding onto lapels of your tiny Easter bunny vest, playing ‘peek a boo, blowing kisses, more waving, lots of waving. And some kids are happy and some are scared, some stunned at weirdness of it all. When you sit in bunny suit, your hard little bunny tail will wedge itself uncomfortably up your butt. So if you notice your Easter bunny adjusting his tail before he sits, you know why. There’s a little fan low to ground, blowing sweet air up, and if you angle it just right breeze flows in crack at your neck, and cools you down. Still later. I realize it’s only kids here, kids as customers, kids in charge. So I start to push envelope. Making bunny gang signs at kids too old and tough to sit on my lap. Saluting security guards, clapping when pretty girls walk by, making curvy hourglass figure with my hands, imitating people on cell phones, one furry hand clapped to my big ear, other hand gesticulating wildly. Peek-a-boo, that’s my specialty. I love to play peek-a-boo with adults. No one likes it, they all walk away fast. The job is fun, kids are cute, pictures are good if we can get them to look at camera. The quintessential moment comes when I am doing something stupid, dancing, or just lolling my big fat head around, sweating profusely. I stop, I see... a movie poster. Viggo Mortensen is wielding a shiny sword, his hair blows in wild wind. He looks out proudly at a billion people who know his face, his name. That is highest height of being an actor. And this, a faceless, sweaty clown in a bunny suit, is lowest low. But I am strangely happy. As my shift ends, and I am escorted to ‘secret room’ to change out of my bunny suit, some kid asks me ‘are you somebody famous under there? “ I put a finger over my bunny lips and disappear behind hidden door.

Nurses have two kinds of needles. One, they have nice sharp pointy needles that pierce epidermis with greatest of ease causing least amount of discomfort.

The second type is reserved for those certain patients, and you know who you are, that cross them. I'm referring to square point needles that gouge flesh. I'm proud to say I experienced former.

The second has to do with hospital bedpans. What deranged person masterminded this dysfunctional appliance? Some research must be funded by government to track this person or persons down and have them executed.

Normally I'm not a violent man. My philosophy is "live and let live." However, hospital bedpans are not normal and are deliberately designed to malfunction every time. Don't ask me how I know, I just do. If not executed, then they should be confined to a hospital bed for rest of their life and I have just bedpan for them.

The third thing I discovered in hospital has to do with those x-rated hospital gowns. They come in one-size-fits-all. That's all right if you happen to be 3'6."

Unless a person is dyslexic, it takes no rocket scientist to see I am a bit larger than 3'6." I just happen to be 6'3" and have never been mistaken for a midget. I have no idea what these so-called gowns were designed for but it was not for modesty.

In fact, there is some evidence that patients in psychiatric ward of hospital designed hospital gown as a group therapy project. It has absolutely no practical - or impractical for that matter - purpose in this life. The hospital gown could be classified as cross-purpose-driven garment.

Several days have passed since leaving my hospital oasis, giving me some time for reflection. The hardest thing for a person like me is to wait. I have my agenda and I dare person to stand in my way.

God, however, has devised marvelous ways of incorporating into our daily regime opportunities to practice this illusive virtue.

A passage from Psalms keeps running through back of my mind. "My soul, wait thou only upon God; for my expectation is from him. He only is my rock and my salvation: he is my defense; I shall not be moved. In God is my salvation and my glory: rock of my strength, and my refuge, is in God. Trust in him at all times; ye people, pour out your heart before him: God is a refuge for us. Selah." (Psalms 62:5-8 KJV.)

Nurses, bedpans and X-rated hospital gowns are not real issues of a hospital stay. Trusting God in adversity is most important.