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You remember the question the doctor asked me in the ER? I chose the rod.  This meant that I gave the doctor permission to put a rod and four screws into my right leg to encourage it to heal straight.

Unfortunately, the doctor wouldn’t be able to perform the surgery right away since
he was busy in the ER for the time being.  However, I was told that I could stay in the hospital for a while and wait until that afternoon, unless a more serious emergency came in, in which case, I’d have to wait until Wednesday.

I was wheeled up to the main hospital, I don’t remember which floor I was on.  The fourth, I think.  They put me in a room with another person that I don’t remember and blanket-moved me into my new bed.  What I mean when I say they blanket-moved me is that each person grabbed a piece of sheet and they transferred me to the hospital bed via the sheet.  Then my nurse introduced himself.  He was a big guy with a big smile.  His name was DJ and he gave me a tour of the bed.

There was a remote embedded in the railing to the left, on which there was a special button I could push if I needed the nurse for whatever reason, like to use the bathroom, and which I could use to control the television. There was phone embedded in the railing to the right that included a directory and on which I had to dial 9 if I wanted an outside line.  A nurse would join me every hour to check all my vitals.  He hooked up a Morphine drip to my IV, which included a button I could push if I was in pain.  The drip was connected to a timer so that I wouldn’t get hooked on it.  Finally, I’d know if my surgery was happening that afternoon or Wednesday depending on if I saw a menu for dinner.

So, he left me alone for an hour, during which time I was EXTREMELY uncomfortable because the IV needle in my left arm prevented me from bending it and I kept forgetting the stupid thing was there.  So when DJ returned, I complained to him about it and he agreed to send a phlebotomist to fix the problem for me.  This happened less than half an hour later and by then my inner elbow was decorated with a thumbprint sized bruise.

The phlebotomist was young, perky and talkative.  She talked the entire time that she moved my needle, replacing it with a flexible one in the back of my hand. She had extensive comments on  what she considered to be the EMTs lack of professionalism for using a metal one in my arm.  She insisted that they knew how to use the flexible needle, they just didn’t.  I nodded and listened and breathed a deep sigh of relief when she gathered up her kit and left.

When she was gone, DJ returned and handed me a menu with a sort of sheepish smile.  My doctor had gotten a more serious emergency.  My surgery was rescheduled to Wednesday.


So, for the next couple days, I had a really rough time.  Every hour on the hour, even at night, nurses would come in and check my vitals. Blood pressure, temperature, pulse, etc.  The last thing they’d do before they left was brush their fingers across the tops of my toes to see if I could still feel them.  I have to credit them for following doctor’s orders but MAN it was annoying because it always felt really strange.  Furthermore, the Morphine never took the pain away, it just stopped me from caring about it, so I took to calling it my I Don’t Care Med.

I had all sorts of visitors from Arby’s practically the entire crew came to visit me in the hospital.  My best friend, Beeker came and helped me write a journal entry about the accident and we had a nice visit, which was fun.  Also, once, while I was under the influence of the Morphine, I think my brothers came and visited me.  I don’t remember much about that visit because I was pretty loopy and tired, but I’m pretty sure they visited (Mom, help me out here).

Then, finally, Wednesday came.

Question Time!  Pretend you’re visiting me in the hospital after I broke my leg.  What would you say to me to cheer me up about having to stay through Wednesday?

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