Yes, I know the world has great problems — starvation, storms, global warming, financial chaos. And more.

But for the past four days, I have lived in the small, controlled universe of a hospital. And my mind has been focused on the eternal problem of a patient’s hospital gown

You know the gown. The backless gown, the bum freezer. The one with ties at the back that no human arms can reach. Ties so elusive that often they don’t even exist.

When you find yourself in hospital and the nurse tells you to “just slip this on,” you can easily see why the world is in turmoil. How can a society that can’t fix the hospital gown hope to mend Wall Street?

I like hospitals, and I have spent more time in them than perhaps I need, including as a child during a long stretch that is luckily fading from memory.

But at all other times in my adult life as a patient, hospitals have given me a great sense of security. In fact, comfort. I even like hospital food. Rather, there are times when I have liked hospital food. It’s much like freeze-dried food for canoe trips. On Day 1, you wouldn’t touch it; by Day 8, it’s ambrosia.

The best meal I ever ate came several days after emergency surgery years ago. It was a steak the size of a deck of cards — overdone, grey and steamed. And truly the best meal I ever ate. (Although, let me tell you right now, that the bright orange cholesterol-free omelette I got this morning leaves much to be desired. Its sole virtue is that when it slipped from the plate onto the floor, it bounced right back onto the bed.)

The main charm of hospitals is that the staff is dedicated to looking after you. You get attention, even if you don’t want it. For example, someone is always coming round to take samples of your blood. For some reason, midnight and six a.m. are the prime times. And you get to see doctors — notably, interns. Indeed, they like to peer and poke and prod, but they are welcome. Out where I live, there is no such thing as a doctor. (Lots of vets, though.)

But let me get back to the hospital gown that started this. I am on my way to the bathroom and I manage to work my feet over the side and sit up. The gown is totally open at the back. In front of me, I have a heart monitor suspended in an old sock. My IV hangs on the pole that holds the volumetric infusion pump.

I reach back and tie the gown at the back of my neck. I stand up. It gapes, I grab the IV pole in my left hand. I hold the gown closed with my right. That leaves my full overnight urinal standing by the bed. I seem to lack the necessary third hand. I pick it up with my right hand and pour half the contents down my left leg.

I put down the urinal, struggle out of my gown and drop it on the puddle. Then, as Nature designed me, I make my way to the bathroom.

Naked. IE