Sunday Scribblings - Broken in Bed

no wicker cafe chairs then
just a bed --
and a triangular bar and a God
to pull myself up with

i never asked Him Why
only would
and how
i could be fixed

then the night shift nurse
brought me grape juice
from two flights up
because she knew i liked it

in a florescent shadow i sipped
the cool purple glue
i knew yes
and thanked how

I have never written at length about my 6 week stay in a hospital bed. Morphine and surgery filled the first two weeks and all I recall is awaking in pain and hitting the buzzer for more morphine. No, that isn't true. I remember awaking to the arrival of my parents. I was living in New Jersey at the time and they flew in from St. Louis, my hometown. Even "under the influence" of morphine, I had a clear sight of the pained look on my mother's face upon first entering the hospital room; she turned and went back to the hallway to compose herself. I called after her, "I'm okay, Mom, I'm okay."  But I wasn't.

The evening before, my best friend, her boyfriend and I were heading back to our homes from a picnic at which there was no alcohol. Three teenage boys were heading to their fourth bar after drinking at two others and a graduation party. The seventeen year old driver literally passed out at the wheel, crossed the center line and hit us head on. It was the first and only time in my life that I have experienced time seeming to slow down. I watched the hood crumple before my eyes and turned away from the windshield toward my friend. And I literally watched my life pass before my eyes, wanting desperately for this not to be the end. I wasn't afraid, just twenty-three and there was so much to still ahead that I did not want to die. I lost consciousness.

I "awoke" to the sounds of screaming thinking perhaps that there had been some huge cosmic mistake and I was perhaps in hell. This would not do. The screams were coming from Linda. She and I were trapped in the mangled vehicle. The emergency personnel were trying to figure the best way to get us out. We were each on our sides facing one another, like the the twin fish sign for Pisces. I told her to look at my swollen leg because I thought that it may be broken. Thankfully, this distracted her from her screaming.

The next thing I remember is waking in the Emergency Room to more screaming. It came from one of the boys in the other car. An attendant asked about emergency contact information and I gave him my parents' phone number with explicit directions to speak only to my father. I was trolley-ed off for X rays. The technician sliced my shirt and pants off. As she aimed for the bra, I firmly begged her "No! I just bought this bra three days ago and it cost a fortune. Please don't cut it off."  She gingerly reached behind me and unfastened the hooks. Both of my legs might be broken but I had my wits about me to a certain, albeit demented, degree.

Broken they were. Both femurs. Imagine snapping a twig in half and laying the two broken ends side by side and barely overlapping. This is what the X-rays look like. It hurt...a lot. My legs were in traction to pull apart the overlapping ends before I could have surgery. Most people die of shock from the injuries I sustained. As I took up residence in the hospital bed for several weeks, I heard many times over how fortunate I was to be alive. They were right then and they have been every day since.

I graduated from the bed to a wheelchair, from wheelchair to walker, and from walker to crutches. I quite literally did not have "a good leg to stand on." About a year after the accident I was able to hobble on my own. I learned innumerable lessons during my hospital stay and subsequent lengthy recovery...far too many to recount in this already too long story.

I cannot think about the ordeal of my broken legs, however, without remembering the night shift nurse. I have no recollection of her face or name. Each night around midnight she came around to take vital signs and would always bring me grape juice. One night she came empty handed, took my info, gave me my shot and said she would be right back. When she returned she explained that they were out of grape juice on our floor but that she finally found some a couple of floors up. I wish I could have told her then that when you are alone and scared and feeling helpless in the dark, that a simple act of kindness provides healing that money just can't buy.

for Sunday Scribblings

Comments

[Willow Grace]

I have chills and feel a bit breathless, too. Thank you for sharing your personal and very difficult story. Your strength and courage is remarkable. I am truly moved.

A little more lightheartedly...do you still have that bra?

[Lynn]

Sue,
I remember hearing about this when it happened, I was living in the Chicago area by then, and you shared more about the recuperation during your wonderful, too-short visit with us. You don't enjoy revisiting the memory, but it is part of your life, and despite the pain, you speak of it with a voice of 'that's over, moved on'. And despite the permanent reminders, you are void of bitterness.

Wondrous to not only physically survive, but your soul survived, and even in the midst of it, you remained sensitive to love and caring, manifest in the little kindnesses of a compassionate stranger.

Grape juice is also the drink of communion in some houses of worship.

love,
Lynn

[annieelf]

It is amazing the beautiful writing that can emerge from suffering. All we have for a while is time to think. Then eventually, if we are lucky, we can read a beautiful example such as this that starts and ends with a cup of human kindness.

[yolanda]

Such a beautiful post. I am so glad you survived to be healthy and the inspiration you are. It also makes me glad to be a nurse.Sometimes the things I do as a nurse don't seem to matter but maybe somewhere down the road those pt's remember a small kindness.

[Ree]

What a terrible experience, but I'm glad you remember the beautiful things that happened in the middle of all the pain. :) Glad you survived!