23 Homey, Private Quarters
From X-Ray, I was transferred to the examining room where a series of tests were done on me over the next hour or so. Not having much else to do, I pondered the fact that virtually every part of both pant legs of my khakis were now a dark, dried-blood-brown, so only a section of my slacks under my waist remained the original color. All from one open wound above my right ankle.
It was now time for me to be wheeled up to a room on the fourth floor. I got in on the negotiations between nurses from different floors, putting in my plug not to be transferred to a regular hospital bed just yet, since it was just a matter of hours before I would again need to be reassigned to a movable bed and wheeled down to the operating theater. Thankfully the nurses were open to my pragmatism, and their humane cooperation cut out a couple of bed transfers, a subject that I touched on earlier, and still dear to my heart.
I relaxed on my bed in a semi-private room, made private by the fact that I was the only patient. A morphine drip mercifully addressed the pain that had racked my leg since morning. And now, the added boost of luxury to just lay back and watch CNN—in English.
My accident had occurred just before 11 a.m., I’d gotten to the first clinic about 2 p.m., the second medical facility about 2:30, and at 5 p.m. I was now finally relaxing in my designated home-away-from-home for the next couple days.
I made a call to my wife, explaining that I’d had an accident but I was okay, and so not only had my flight plans changed, but in a few hours I was going to be having surgery on a broken leg.
(Above: Cover of a Get Well card I received, that gave me a good laugh.)
It was now time for me to be wheeled up to a room on the fourth floor. I got in on the negotiations between nurses from different floors, putting in my plug not to be transferred to a regular hospital bed just yet, since it was just a matter of hours before I would again need to be reassigned to a movable bed and wheeled down to the operating theater. Thankfully the nurses were open to my pragmatism, and their humane cooperation cut out a couple of bed transfers, a subject that I touched on earlier, and still dear to my heart.
I relaxed on my bed in a semi-private room, made private by the fact that I was the only patient. A morphine drip mercifully addressed the pain that had racked my leg since morning. And now, the added boost of luxury to just lay back and watch CNN—in English.
My accident had occurred just before 11 a.m., I’d gotten to the first clinic about 2 p.m., the second medical facility about 2:30, and at 5 p.m. I was now finally relaxing in my designated home-away-from-home for the next couple days.
I made a call to my wife, explaining that I’d had an accident but I was okay, and so not only had my flight plans changed, but in a few hours I was going to be having surgery on a broken leg.(Above: Cover of a Get Well card I received, that gave me a good laugh.)
Labels: broken leg; x-ray; xray; surgery
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