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If you've ever siphoned anything, or are thinking of doing so, please read this!

My husband was recently discharged from the rehabilitation hospital he had chosen for
therapy for the injuries he sustained in his fall. The discharge was given without a full 48
hours notice, though and I was running from the moment I heard it--trying to get things
ready here at home for the many needs he has. I figured he'd be there for at least 3
weeks and that I would have ample notice when he was due to come home, but things
didn't turn out that way.

Originally it was thought that we would empty the water bed and put a standard mattress
in the frame. That, of course, would mean that the water bed mattress would need to be
emptied. So, like any good and mentally unstable wife, I marched up to the bed I had
never emptied before and began what I was sure would be an easy task. I mean, people
empty water beds every day, right? How hard could it be? My husband supposed it
would be difficult enough for me to need assistance and so, he called on his brothers. I
turned one of them away at the door, assuring him that I already had things under way
(while hiding the as-yet-unattached valve behind my back) and would be fine.

The other brother showed up and was let in by my adorably unassuming children and
good-for-nothing dog. I showed Tim (my brother-in-law) the valve and the bed and the
garden hose that was now lying on the floor of the bedroom. He watched as I read the
instructions and attached the valve to the hose and then attempted to hook the hose to
the bathroom sink. That was a huge no-go. I would need another adapter or some other
way to get suction going.

We snaked the hose out the front window and onto the lawn (very Clampett-like--let me
tell ya a little story 'bout a girl named Anne...) and looked for a way to get the water
flowing. We traipsed out to the back shed, hoping for I-don't-know-what to aid us in our
duty, and then went to the basement where we eyed up the shop vac for a moment
before coming to the conclusion that we'd need yet another adapter to make that work.

So, back out to the front lawn we went, taking turns running upstairs to try and push the
water out (as if) and Tim thought reverse action might work so he blew into the hose and
did little more than create an air bubble inside the mattress.

I went back down the stairs for the umpteenth time and decided to try siphoning the hose.
It worked immediately, scarily so, and the water gushed from the end of the hose and kept
on going. We watched it for about half an hour and decided it was good to go. After
several rather rude jokes about hillbillies and too much giggling, I told Tim it should be OK
and would take several hours to empty so he could excuse himself. He agreed and went
home.

I sat on the front porch with the baby, watching the flow continue, until she fell asleep. I got
her settled inside and when I got back out, the water was trickling and then stopped.
Undaunted, and buffeted by my previous success, I siphoned again and it came out even
faster this time. Giggling to myself, I sat and watched as it slowed once again and quit. I
went back up to the bed to see if there was anything I could do there and decided a
shorter hose would allow for more suction. Indeed.

I shortened the hose enough to still fit out the window and started siphoning again. The
noise it made scared me, so I backed off and stared at the bed. Did I really want to
chance this? Well, Marty needed a place to sleep and purchasing a pump to do the job
for $88 was out of the question, so I tried again. I was met by a mouthful of water which I
for some inconceivable reason swallowed. A moment of panic ran through me as I
thought of the conditioner that had been put in the water to keep it from growing fungus.
This couldn't be good.

I ran to the bathroom sputtering and gagging, spitting into the sink as if I had just
swallowed poison. I stood there for a minute, unsure what to do, visions of me at the ER
having my stomach pumped ran through my mind and I decided I would drink tons of
water and hope for the best.

The bed was now half-empty (no, I am NOT a pessimist!) and I was grossed out, tired
and frustrated, so I went to bed.

My husband called the next morning to let me know that the care management people
from the rehab were sending him home to a hospital bed--on the first floor--with it's own
mattress--not a water mattress. When the man that brought the hospital bed injured
himself while setting it up, I really had to keep the hysterical and incontrolable laughter at bay.
I felt very badly that he was hurt, but it added to the insanity so well that I was in tears as
soon as he had shuffled out the door on his way to the ER.

Moral of the story? I have no clue ... but if you can see one here and feel so inclined to share, please do so!