“He’s tall.”

“Yeah, he is tall.”

I looked around as best a nearly blind guy who’s still asleep could. I couldn’t see anyone fitting the tall description; just a couple of short women very close to me. Then I noticed that they had their arms about me, and in no comforting way. What was happening to me was the question. After much tugging and grunting by the women I found myself in a narrow bed. My sleep had definitely been disturbed, but what was that all about? Hmm, “tall”? Maybe they were talking about me. Chatter and strange noises continued and I fell back to sleep.

When I finally awoke I discovered that the narrow bed was a hospital model that was much like a bird’s nest. A body could not get out of it without help. Now I understood the women’s tugging and grunting.

But why was I here? One of the last things I heard before the “tall” comments was by a male voice that said, ”I can do the surgery this afternoon.”

“The surgery must have taken place, to me, of course,” I thought. I felt round about for bandages and stuff, but I couldn’t move enough to find anything other than a brace that made it impossible to move my right arm.

Bye and bye I began to remember what had happened to me and why I was here. I started my day early by getting out of bed to go to the bathroom. Only I didn’t make it there. Evidently, in getting out of bed, I didn’t pause long enough to decide whether I was awake or still asleep. Sleep must have won, for I woke up on the floor beside the bed. Remember the TV spot where an old lady lies on the floor and says, “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up.” Picture that scene, but substitute me, an old man, as the star character. In due time Catherine came by on her way to walk the dog. I yelled to her for help to get up. A brief look at me told her that I was not to get up for a while. A 911 call, a short ride flat on my back and the hospital had another victim.

I barely recall being in the emergency room, much less what happened there. I suppose there was no question that there were some broken bones so it was off to the X-ray machine. The right leg and the right arm were broken, and I’m right handed. It must have been about then that the male voice announced his intention to do surgery that afternoon.

In a couple of days I heard talk of therapy. Insurance would cover twenty days of in-hospital therapy because of multiple fractures. Not long after that a crew of movers came to take me away. It was only a short trip. We didn’t even leave the building. It turned out to be a step up in the world for me; we left the fourth for the tenth floor, surely a step up. As they unloaded their cargo (my body) and put it into the bed I heard familiar words along with tugging and grunting.

“He’s tall.”

“He is tall. Let me get a better hold around him.” And there I was in my home base in a facility that came highly recommended by a former patron. I even met the tin man while I was there.

The therapists seemed to be good at their jobs. I believe they wanted to make one want to regain his former agility and it takes work by the patient.

After the mandatory pills and checking of the vitals my day started with “Mr. Jessee, it’s Amy. I’m here to give you your bath and get you dressed for the day.” Her job was to help me learn to manage putting my clothes on without help. She showed me how to use a grabber stick to put on my pants and socks, since I could not move my broken leg at first.

I could tell by her sweet voice that she was a twenty-something young chick. She always seemed glad to see me. Sometimes Amy came before breakfast and sometimes breakfast came before Amy, but Amy was much preferred over breakfast. Ever tried to eat a hospital meal, especially wrong handed? I met Amy again later in the day for therapy on my shoulder.

Holly or Rachel came for me after I was dressed for the day. We went to the “gym” for workouts. I got to lie down and lift my broken leg 15 times when I could barely lift it at all. But in doing these exercises every day I finally was able to do them easily. My doctor allowed me to walk twenty feet at a time so we practiced walking as well.

Hospitals are pretty boring places to hang out in. The food is bad, you can’t get enough sleep “wake up and take your sleeping pill” and there’s always somebody ready to disturb your thoughts. Worst of all whatever ills, aches and pains one had before the visit will be worse when one gets out.

When my time was up I was ready to go home if I could take Amy with me. But nothing doing so I shed a tear as we left.