Emergency Room

Tuesday October 12, 2004

After I fell, I first called Mary. But when I realized I could not get up, and therefore I would not be able to get into Mary's car, then I called 911. I knew they could get me into an ambulance for transport.

The paramedics were very friendly. They were going to lock my bicycle to a traffic sign and leave the key with the store owner on the corner, who said he would keep it for me. But Mary showed up shortly after the paramedics. They took the bicycle apart so she could put it in the trunk of her new little Honda, and they used my bungee cord to close the trunk lid as much as possible. Mary couldn't believe how helpful they were.

The paramedics poked at my leg and really did say that it did not appear to be broken ... if it were really broken, just their touching the leg would cause me a lot of pain. However, they advised that I really should visit a hospital and be checked out; if I left on my own, they couldn't be held responsible for me. I knew this was a legal necessity on their part. But of course I had called them because I wanted to be taken to a hospital!

So off we went. They lifted me onto a gurney. Being lifted onto the gurney, and having the gurney lifted into the ambulance, felt like a roller coaster ride. I had to trust them ... I had no choice. I could not move my leg at all. They gave me my little black bag, my water bottle and my helmet. I don't know why they didn't give my helmet to Mary to keep with the bicycle.

My first choice was Alexian Brothers hospital, which is nearest our house, and I thought Mary got very good care there several years ago when she had hernia surgery. But Mary suggested San Jose Hospital downtown instead, for insurance reasons. Because her trunk lid was not closed fully, she brought my bicycle home while I got a ride to the hospital.

At the hospital, I had to be transferred from one gurney to another. The ER's gurney was next to a wall and there was no room for paramedics to lift me from one to another. I volunteered to shove myself from one gurney to the other using my good leg, while one of them held my bad leg to keep it out of the way. In a few minutes, we repeated this same procedure as I shoved myself from the new gurney onto the x-ray table. In retrospect, this may not have been wise, as the x-rays showed a fracture. It's possible I made things worse, but not likely much worse.

After x-rays I was returned to the ER to wait for a surgeon to free up. Just before I had arrived, a child with a broken wrist had also been admitted. The orthopedic surgeon on duty specialized in wrists, and a long surgery was anticipated for the child. Now it was about 5:00 pm and Mary arrived. She would not let me drink from my water bottle. I argued with her. When I asked the nurse, she said no, if I were to have surgery tonight they would want my stomach empty. There were lots of questions about when I had last eaten. They were still uncertain whether I would have surgery tonight or tomorrow.

At 6:40 pm, I was informed that the child's wrist surgery had gone quickly, and I was scheduled for 7:00 pm surgery ... in just a few minutes. Mary and I prayed, and I had no misgivings about the surgery at all. Mary especially prayed that the doctors would have wisdom in case special decisions had to be made during the surgery. She has better foresight about those things than I do.

They wheeled me into pre-op at precisely 7:00 pm. They gave me a shot of morphine that never had any effect. They kept asking me which hip. I asked them whether they would keep asking me which hip until the morphine made me forget! The surgeon informed me of all kinds of minor risks with the surgery. As if I might change my mind. Doh! Again, a legal necessity, but at least I knew what kinds of things we would be looking for during follow-up care.

He would be putting four titanium screws "about this long" (he held his hands about eight inches apart) into the bone to hold it together. Yow!

They brought me into the operating room at 7:20 pm. I don't remember how I got onto the operating table. (I hope they lifted me.) I asked for more morphine since the first shot hadn't made me woozy as they'd suggested. After the second shot the lights on the ceiling started moving. I asked if that were the intended effect ... just trying to keep them informed. They had to roll me onto my "bad" side in order to administer the spinal injection. The medicine flows "down" due to gravity and numbs the side that will have surgery, but not the other side. Then they started to strap me into a "frog" position with my legs separated. But the spinal injection was insufficient so they had to administer a general. They had wanted to avoid this because it had not been fully eight hours since I had eaten.

Having a mask put over my face is the last thing I remember. When I awoke at 9:30 pm, Mary was with me in post-op. I started talking and looking around. Apparently the nurse was trying to tell me not to move my head, but I didn't hear her or didn't understand. Throwing up was definitely the worst part of the whole experience. Mary kept saying, "Stop saying you're sorry about throwing up! You can't help it! It's OK." I guess I'm just too polite.