The people involved in the repair and recovery of my husband’s shattered feet had left us to fend for ourselves. We no longer could tolerate the miscommunication and lack of compassion. The two of us put our heads together and decided to be more assertive, in other words, pushy … in order to get something done.
Feet Tale Two
From the emergency room, my husband was admitted to the hospital. He was in and out of sleep from pain medication. Since 2:30 in the afternoon we waited for a surgeon to repair his shattered feet, but by 10pm, there was no sign of one. Is it still an emergency after almost eight hours?
A Tale about Feet
On April 15, 2014, my dog, Max, had a quarter-sized lump removed from his side. We had to wait for test results to come back and have his stitches removed in ten days (this is relevant for later).
On April 17, 2014, my husband called me from work just to say hi and let me know he was thinking of me.
Ten minutes after we hung up, around 2:30pm, my phone rang and I saw his number on caller ID again. Hmm. I wonder what he could’ve forgotten to tell me.
A woman’s voice I didn’t recognize said, “Hi. Is this Lori, Gary’s wife?”
“Yes.” My voice shook.
“Gary just had an accident at work. We called an ambulance for him.”
“Wha… Wha… What?” Fear shot through my veins and straight into my brain, causing logical thoughts to scamper and hide.