I recently looked in the mirror and saw my “before Jesus” self, and I didn’t particularly like what I saw. Satan, heavily involved in the boomerang effects of the day before, had gotten hold of my emotions. Aiding and abetting my detonation of emotional rancor, rudeness, and repressed anger, I tumbled into the abyss of raging mania.
When an ambulance scraped my husband off the concrete sidewalk in front of Big O Tires, they took him to the ER in Cottonwood, Arizona, and took our dog, Jethro, to the police station. This frightening event caused a series of happenings to implode into our lives. The police brought my puppy home, I rushed out the door, and drove to Cottonwood. The ER receptionist told me what room he was in, and as I walked away, she said, “He’s okay. He’ll be fine.”
Whew! What a relief. However, when I walked into his room, I couldn’t believe how badly he looked. He looked as if a Mack Truck had trampled his face several times. Nevertheless, the ER doc assured me that once he stitched Scotty up, I could take him home.
Whew! What a relief. Yet, after driving home to get clean clothing, and driving back to the ER, when the nurse removed the oxygen cannula from his nostrils, his oxygen level plummeted immediately. She called the doctor in.
“Oh! I better look at the images before you leave,” the doctor said.
A few minutes later, he came charging into the room and said, “He can’t go home. He has a broken rib, a very small laceration in his liver. We need to get him to the hospital in Flagstaff, because it’s a Trauma One Center.”
The doc looked at me, and said, I’m really sorry, but I’ve been working since 6:00 AM, we’ve had a very busy afternoon, and I’m exhausted. Thank you for your understanding.”
They flew Scott by helicopter to Northern Arizona Medical Center. I had to kiss him goodbye, and go back home, because I didn’t want to leave the dog. The next morning, I was able to take the dog to Bark N’ Purr, at 8:30 AM, and I drove to Flagstaff. He spent six days in the hospital, and moved him to a rehab center in Cottonwood.
Whew! What a relief. Not so much. The first night, he fell on his prosthetic hip and suffered a minor fracture, because the staff refused to slide his bed against the wall and put a mattress down on the floor next to the bed. I started working to get him removed from that facility.
In the meantime, the facility sent Scott to the same ER for what I believed was a determination about what to do with his fractured hip. We waited three hours to get him in a room, only to find out from an ER doctor that the orthopedist felt he was too old and fragile, and decided it was best to let the fracture heal itself.
Conclusion next week!